501 lines
25 KiB
Plaintext
501 lines
25 KiB
Plaintext
[1]
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Blackbird Spyplane
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[2]Blackbird Spyplane
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SubscribeSign in
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This life gives you nothing
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Your attention is all you have. Wasting it is annihilating. Blackbird Spyplane
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saves literacy in a monumental Year-End Essay.
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Dec 16, 2025
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1,211
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77
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230
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Share
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Blackbird Spyplane exists thanks to our readers.
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We don’t run any ads, we don’t use affiliate links on new clothes, we don’t do
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any spon. You’re the only people we owe anything, so we keep some of our best
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material for Classified Tier Subscribers.
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Upgrade today if you haven’t yet, support greatness and enjoy a better life in
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the inner sanctum — Jonah & Erin
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[21][ ]
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Subscribe
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[23]
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[https]
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Blackbird Spyplane for the World’s Public Libraries
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Our interviews with Nathan Fielder, Sarah Squirm, Cameron Winter and Geese,
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Adam Sandler, Brendan from Turnstile, Patrick Radden Keefe, MJ Lenderman, Evan
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Kinori, Maya Hawke, Bon Iver, André 3000, Sandy Liang, Matty Matheson, Laraaji,
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Ryota Iwai from Auralee, Tyler, The Creator, John C. Reilly, Father John Misty,
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Kate Berlant, Clairo, Steven Yeun, Conner O’Malley & more are [26]here.
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Check out our monumental new list of the [27]50 Slappiest Shops across the
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Spyplane Universe.
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Our brand-new G.I.F.T.S. List is [28]here.
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2025 was The Jacket’s Year — the 21 best are [29]here.
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[30]
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[https]
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1 — All is full of Screen
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A disconcerting question strikes me alarmingly often these days. I’ll be out in
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the world, and I’ll see something … let’s call it picturesque. Say I’m walking
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along a nature trail as a white wall of fog avalanches over a ridge, down a
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canyon of pine and oak, toward the blue waters of the Bay. I will find myself
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thinking, “My god, that is beautiful.” And then — even if I manage to keep my
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phone in my pocket, resisting what’s become a powerful instinct to reach for it
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— I will feel a strange tremor of uncertainty: “Am I looking at a screen right
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now?” I wonder.
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In the moment, this uncertainty is not fully articulated, nor, thankfully, does
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it emerge from some extreme delusional state where I’ve lost my hold on
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reality. It’s more of a pre-cognitive kind of category confusion. And at the
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core of the confusion is this: As my life has come to consist so
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overwhelmingly, and for so many years, of looking at images on screens — and of
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looking at the world through a camera, which is also a phone, which is also a
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screen — the distinction for me between the screen and the non-screen can
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wobble.
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I still know the difference intellectually. But I don’t always necessarily feel
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it. That is the disconcerting part. I stare at the hillside, try to pick out
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individual details and weave them into a living, breathing totality that also
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includes the cool air on my skin and the birdsong in my ears. As I do this, I
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tell myself, “This is a real place, this is not an image of a place,” and I
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repeat that a few times, trying to will back the border dividing the two.
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[33]
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[https]
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Here’s how I make sense of this wobble between world and image.
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For a time, when I was much more active on Twitter than I am now, I’d find
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myself, e.g., washing dishes and, without wanting to, thinking about various
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mundane things in the form of tweets. Some nascent half-kernel of an idea would
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come to me and, like a hack comedian for whom every banal thing is material, I
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would immediately start working it over for any and all tweet-like potential.
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Maybe there was a tiny bit of dish soap left at the bottom of the bottle, and I
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considered diluting it with water to get it out more easily, and make the
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bottle last longer. I wouldn’t simply think that. Thanks to Twitter, I’d think
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something exponentially more inane and annoying, such as, “The masculine urge
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to water down the dish soap…” or “The two genders [picture of brand-new dish
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soap vs. picture of old diluted dish soap]…” or “Choose your fighter [same two
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pictures again]…” or “Wake up babe, new diluted dish soap just dropped,” or
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“Men will dilute the last millimeter of dish soap rather than go to therapy…”
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or “No but the way I just diluted the dish soap…”
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And so on. Just cycling through a procession of dumb, Twitter-borne
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phraseologies as they ran through my head, like a radio on the fritz skipping
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stations. It was a bit like I was idly playing a “brain teaser” puzzle, and a
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bit like my brains were oozing out of my ears. I’d spent so many hours of so
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many days reading tweets — encountering other people’s thoughts filtered
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through the specific character limits and idiomatic conventions of that site —
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that the seams between my own experiences, thoughts, and tweets began, on some
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level, to delaminate.
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I worry that something analogous has happened in my relationship to looking.
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The same way that an idea would occur to me and I’d immediately reach for a
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Stock Twitter Phrase to give it form, whenever I see anything that interests me
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now, there’s a looming sense in which my phone is there with me, framing and
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constituting the sight, even if I never post the picture, even if I never look
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at it again and, weirdest of all, even if don’t take out my phone.
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The same way I once conditioned myself to think in tweets, I’ve conditioned
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myself to see in “posts,” in “grid pics,” in “stories,” in flicks texted to the
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group chat, in .HEICs, and so on.
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This is the underside of what people mean when they describe an extremely
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“sticky” piece of technology: It can stick to you, like the facehugger from
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Alien, even when you’re not using it.
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[36]
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[https]
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How to get yourself unstuck?
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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2 — Your attention is all you have
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One afternoon this fall I found myself “thinking in Instagram reels.”
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I had an idea for a video I wanted to make for the Spyplane IG, which I hoped
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people would find funny. The premise isn’t worth describing except to say it
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involved me reading from some book broadly coded as “smart,” as a prop. I
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scanned our shelves for something that fit the bill, until my eye landed on
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Swann’s Way.
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I don’t know how Erin and I came to own this copy, but we’ve had it for ages.
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I’d never read it, nor had she. That didn’t matter: This was a perfect “smart
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book” for the video I wanted to spend the next ~hour improvising, shooting and
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editing. I pulled the novel down and started searching for a passage that
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sounded appropriately “high-flown.”
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And it was at this point that I enjoyed two unexpected, interconnected
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revelations. The first was that the opening pages of Swann’s Way are beautiful
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and captivatingly trippy. The second was that I did not want to die, whenever
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that day comes, having made an IG reel with a throwaway punchline about Proust,
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but not having actually read any Proust.
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There’s a lot of talk these days about the death of literacy. No one reads,
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video’s eating everything, we’ve grown stupid, and our alienation from written
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language is only making us stupider.
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For me, this isn’t distant, theoretical hand-wringing. I feel it firsthand, in
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the erosion of my own ability to concentrate on a piece of writing of any
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significant seriousness and length.
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I am, of course, not alone in this. Our attention has been transformed into one
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of the few remaining reliable “growth markets” by a parasite economy much
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better suited to sucking and siphoning than it is to building new things. This
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means that everything wants to get into our eyeballs, and it goes without
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saying that there are far more effective technologies for getting in people’s
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eyeballs — and turning a profit there — than books.
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But your attention is, on a foundational level, all you have. This is why it
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feels worse than bad to waste it. It feels annihilating.
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And so I decided not to make an IG reel, and instead, to finally read Swann’s
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Way.
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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3 — Magical mornings with the anti-phone
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Every morning for ~6 weeks, from late September to early November, I got out of
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bed early, put on some coffee, and sat with Proust for an hour or so in the
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quiet of predawn.
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I moved slowly. The sentences in Swann’s Way are long, at times comically so:
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stuffed with asides, nested clauses, digressions, and spiraling detours into
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metaphor. There might be all of three sentences on a given page, and it was not
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uncommon for me to make it through just 10 pages in the course of that predawn
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hour.
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This was fine with me, because the point wasn’t to burn through the book at
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1.5x speed. The point was to sink into it, to stretch out, and along the way,
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to remind myself that I’m an adult and my attention is my own.
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In that light, Proust was perfect for the job. Swann’s Way requires total
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concentration. If your mind wanders 1/6th of the way through a sentence, you
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will lose your bearings, and the sentence will spit you out. And yet the book
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isn’t punishing or difficult in the way of Ulysses or Derrida. It just moves at
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its own speed, and if you decelerate, and lock in, it’s a delight.
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The story takes place in the 19th century, and unfolds at the speed of carriage
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rides, long walks through the countryside, and letters dispatched across Paris.
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There is no immediacy in it, or at least much less than we’re used to. There is
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a plot, but the book is less about that than about trying to render the
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experience of being alive in language as vividly, granularly, abundantly,
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comprehensively and encompassingly as possible.
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There’s an extravagance of words, devoted to capturing interior and external
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life in detail, whether it’s the way a shaft of sunshine looks as it passes
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through the windows of a provincial church and lands on a patch of stone, or
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the foolish, contradictory behavior of a man who grows infatuated with a woman
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he does not seem to love, and who does not seem to love him, either. (I read
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[39]this translation.)
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[40]
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[https]
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To actually read Swann’s Way, it was necessary that I start the day with it,
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and that I didn’t look at my phone first under any circumstances. Getting in
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some scrolling beforehand would have been like waking up before sunrise,
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driving to the gym, and then saying, “I’ll just eat this box of donut holes
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before I get on the treadmill.” Nothing doing. On the few days when I made this
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mistake — thinking, against my better judgment, ‘I’ll just check the weather
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real quick’ — the spell was broken, I was still on the phone 40 minutes later,
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and my concentration was shot. I couldn’t get any traction when I tried to
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switch over to the novel, if I managed to pick it up at all.
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Despite the gym metaphor, I don’t want to instrumentalize reading into
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something you should do for “gains.” You need absolutely no reason to immerse
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yourself in a great book beyond the vast intrinsic pleasure of doing so.
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But in my case I was reading Swann’s Way not only for that pleasure, but also
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because phones have trained my brain to work in a way I don’t like, and I
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wanted to re-train myself: To rebuild my capacity for sustained attention like
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a muscle, to diminish the desire to scroll, to reclaim time spent within
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myself, uncoerced, undistracted, imagining and creating, in the particular way
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that only happens when you’re reading.
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[43]
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[https]
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This hour of predawn Swann time became a ritual I depended on and eagerly
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looked forward to. You can analogize it to runner’s high, you can analogize it
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to core strength, but at the end of the hour, I came away with something more
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than just my normal nagging feelings of dissatisfaction with the way the
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internet organizes our thoughts. I’d done a set of Proust reps to failure —
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something actively pleasing, and actively fortifying, that would be with me for
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the rest of the day.
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Blackbird Spyplane is a subscriber-powered, spon-free independent miracle.
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Upgrade to our Classified Tier today, support greatness, and enjoy a better
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life instantly in the inner sanctum — Jonah & Erin
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[56][ ]
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Subscribe
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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4 — The good in flicking up everything
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Why do we pull out our phones at concerts instead of just watching the show?
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Why do we pull them out at the beach instead of just watching the sunset?
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I don’t think it’s because we’ve become automatons. I think the widespread
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impulse to take a photo of everything is in fact, at root, a creative one. It
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reflects a desire to not just receive life passively, but to intervene in it
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creatively: To frame the shot, to find the most compelling angle, to draw out
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the emotion, to honor the light… to participate.
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The problem is that the cameraphone, connected as it is to our online lives,
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doesn’t just serve the creative impulse and stop there. It risks cannibalizing
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that impulse, co-opting it, colonizing it, and ultimately thwarting it. Because
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the cameraphone allows us so readily to stop noticing the thing we’re
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photographing, and instead to outsource our experience of experiencing to the
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phone, much like we’ve outsourced our sense of direction to Google Maps.
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What’s more, when you start shooting video at the concert, your experience of
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watching [58]Spyfriend Cameron Winter perform in real time is captured and
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subordinated by your desire to commemorate that experience for some vaguely
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imagined Future You, and/or to post the footage for the benefit of some vaguely
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imagined Impressed Other People.
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This ultimately makes you more absent, and less present, to your life. And yet,
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again, I suspect that trying to rack up faves on a pic stems from something
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wonderful, which is our communal urge to share our experiences with other
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people: Are you guys seeing this sunset??
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Our appetite for life is so big that living just one life doesn’t always feel
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like enough. We want to know what other people’s lives are like, and we want
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other people to live some of our lives, too.
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[59]
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[https]
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A book is, we know, an unrivaled technology for living more life.
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The contemporary internet-abetted image, on the other hand, is a highly potent
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yet f--ked-up technology for living more life. It comes with all kinds of
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strings attached, and it has a way of leaving us feeling lonely, lacking,
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unsatisfied, and jittery.
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This is not thanks to creeping moral rot on our parts. Quite the contrary, it’s
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because these feelings of loneliness and dissatisfaction serve the twisted
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prerogatives of the people who design and make money from the technology
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sucking up our attention.
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And those are not the prerogatives of people who write great books.
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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5 — The remedy
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When I felt my thoughts morphing into tweets, the remedy was to spend less time
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on Twitter. The remedy for seeing everything as a digital image of itself is,
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similarly, to see less screen.
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Avoiding screen is harder to do than avoiding a single app, but there are ways.
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Early one morning in early November, I finished Swann’s Way. I sat there in its
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afterglow for a while, looking out a window. I was at a house on the Sonoma
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coast, where the sunrise was pushing through the fog, which itself pushed
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through a stand of redwoods. I didn’t need to assure myself that this sight was
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real and not a screen. The book had left me in a state similar to one I’ve
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enjoyed on psychedelics: my attention felt focused, even as my mind was free to
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wander.
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It felt good to sit there and let thoughts blossom slowly, and instead of
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taking a picture of the redwoods, the way I’d normally do, I wrote down what I
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saw as I looked at them: the drops of water clustered in the boughs, the
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particles that drifted past in dense enough concentration that they counted as
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“fog” but were also perceptible as individual instances of moisture. Grains of
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sand, and also the beach, at once.
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Then I took a picture, which, when I consult it now, looks dramatically
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different from what I saw, and from what I remember.
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[62]
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[https]
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Every morning since then, I’ve continued the ritual of waking up early and
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devoting an hour or so to reading before the day begins — and, very
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importantly, before looking at any screens.
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I moved on from Proust to Karl Ove Knausgaard’s famous My Struggle novels,
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which I’ve been meaning to read for more than a decade, and which felt like a
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good segue for a few reasons. Knausgaard is overwhelmingly concerned with
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memory, and he applies an abundance of language to capturing quotidian
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experience and expansive insights alike.
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In the second book of the series, set in the mid-2000s, there’s a passage where
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he writes about settling into the sofa with his wife to watch a DVD. His real
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subject is attention:
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…we wanted to be entertained. And it had to be with as little effort and
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inconvenience as possible. It was the same with everything. I hardly read
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books anymore; if there was a newspaper around I would prefer to read that.
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And the threshold just kept rising. It was idiotic because this life gave
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you nothing, it only made time pass. If we saw a good film it stirred us
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and set things in motion, for that is how it is, the world is always the
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same, it is the way we view it that changes.
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Twenty years later, things are the same, but more so. The threshold just keeps
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rising. And it is worse than idiotic, because not only does this life gives you
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nothing, not only does it make time pass — it steals life from you.
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In his books, Knausgaard often finds himself among other people, wishing he was
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alone. Proust, for his part, was a severely asthmatic child, this left him
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frail into adulthood, and by the time he wrote Swann’s Way he’d largely
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withdrawn from society, sticking to his rooms and writing. This isolation may
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have been maddening and painful — you need to spend time chopping it up with
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the f--king homies to thrive. But it also cleared the field for his imagination
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to flower, for him to dig into himself, open himself up and, in so doing, to
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push outward. In other words, by writing, he broke confinement.
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Today we are all of us lonelier, and more alone, than ever. But we’re never
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alone, either, because our attention is hijacked, our time feels crunched, and
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our cells travel with us everywhere we go, padded with layer upon layer of
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endless, overlapping digital distractions. The Goon Cave is becoming life’s
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organizing principle.
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And yet I know we still have more time on our hands than we realize: our phones
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take lots of it from us, yes, but there’s lots of time we surrender to our
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phones, too. We’ve grown accustomed to filling our time with scrolling because
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scrolling is diabolically easy. We can find ways to engineer away some of that
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scrolling, however, and replace it with things that do not merely distract us
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but speak far more resonantly to the questions we’re trying to ask when we
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start scrolling in the first place.
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When we do this, we don’t just find ourselves with more time on our hands, but
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with more life on our hands, too. Because we set things back in motion. The
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world remains the same, but the way we see it changes.
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P🌅E🌅A🌅C🌅E until next time,
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Jonah & Erin
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[75][ ]
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Subscribe
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[77]Leave a comment
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1,211
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77
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230
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[85]
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Marcy Thompson's avatar
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[86]Marcy Thompson
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[87]Dec 16
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A couple of days ago, I sang Handel's Messiah with a local church choir. I'm
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not religious, but I am a former chorus nerd; it had become part of my past,
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and I missed it. So, for a few weeks I rehearsed with the choir, learned the
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part, and refamiliarized myself with what it means to sing with a group. The
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concert on Sunday was glorious: a room full of human beings singing, playing
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gorgeous instruments, responding to each other synchronously in a collective
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effort to bring to life something that was written almost 300 years ago. It was
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a thrill. Later, I realized I hadn't taken a single photo of my time with the
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choir, I had no recording of the event. And, although I was initially saddened
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by that, I realized that -- instead -- I actually had the music I had sung at
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the concert playing in my ears. A most beautiful kind of reminder.
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Here's to having more life on our hands.
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[89]1 reply by Blackbird Spyplane
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[90]
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shonni's avatar
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[91]shonni
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[92]Dec 16
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Hey Jonah, thanks for this truly great piece. I’m the chair of the English
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Department at Fordham and a longtime BBSP subscriber (and have actually taught
|
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BBSP pieces to students for a few years now in a course on fashion and
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literature). We actually just revised our vision for our department to center
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“the arts of attention: reading, writing, conversation.” Would it be possible
|
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for me to share this piece with our English majors? Appreciate the
|
||
consideration.
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Reply
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[94]1 reply by Blackbird Spyplane
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[95]75 more comments...
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[23] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!-pUp!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F48146675-4653-4f0b-a8d0-d266c8af498a_1271x1571.png
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[26] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/the-blackbird-spyplane-interview
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[27] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/the-35-slappiest-clothing-shops
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[28] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/2025-blackbird-spyplane-gifts-list-gratitude-edition
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[29] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/the-year-jackets-rocked-again
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[30] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!3pkc!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F99573365-8f85-498c-85f5-fd3d3a689296_1208x493.png
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[33] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!Blep!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F820d5f12-c70c-49c9-9a74-c01053e244c6_232x412.gif
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[36] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!eZXY!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fc42f0738-f3b8-42b7-95ca-2ead9bbefaa7_500x281.gif
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[39] https://bookshop.org/a/32497/9780375751547
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[40] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!2hex!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fec4f87df-ed2c-4e01-bced-198cd44b595f_2000x2596.png
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[43] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!necs!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5fdc0f8d-adc1-489e-a0e8-c36dc3ff6501_1208x529.png
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[58] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/cameron-winter-interview-geese-the-urge-to-respond
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[59] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!ItcB!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F215f56da-54d2-4173-8a40-367270729441_1208x493.png
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[62] https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!LAKB!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F0992988a-c49a-4cfa-8d0b-e7c8b2875a72_2000x2649.png
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[77] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/this-life-gives-you-nothing/comments
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[85] https://substack.com/profile/2725960-marcy-thompson?utm_source=comment
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[86] https://substack.com/profile/2725960-marcy-thompson?utm_source=substack-feed-item
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[87] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/this-life-gives-you-nothing/comment/188413875
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[89] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/this-life-gives-you-nothing/comment/188413875
|
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[90] https://substack.com/profile/802405-shonni?utm_source=comment
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[91] https://substack.com/profile/802405-shonni?utm_source=substack-feed-item
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[92] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/this-life-gives-you-nothing/comment/188414352
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[94] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/this-life-gives-you-nothing/comment/188414352
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[95] https://www.blackbirdspyplane.com/p/this-life-gives-you-nothing/comments
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[117] https://substack.com/
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[118] https://enable-javascript.com/
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