Summer has flown away, the trees are turning and autumn has hit with a punch overnight. All of a sudden it’s a bit grim outside and we hunker down, gather straw around us and hibernate until winter. Ah well, here’s some things that I enjoyed in September, and you might too:
- Had this poem by Don Marquis flagged for a long time, but finally got round to reading it. Not much to say, other than it’s great. Can’t remember how I found it, but I know very little about the poet and their work.
This article by Andrew Sullivan about reconnecting with yourself in an age of distraction has been everywhere and with good reason. He makes a compelling case for slowing down and stopping the rush of information:
We almost forget that ten years ago, there were no smartphones, and as recently as 2011, only a third of Americans owned one. Now nearly two-thirds do. That figure reaches 85 percent when you’re only counting young adults. And 46 percent of Americans told Pew surveyors last year a simple but remarkable thing: They could not live without one. The device went from unknown to indispensable in less than a decade
I often struggle with this myself. I have found value in single tasking, in reducing the amount of information and focusing more on what i want to rad. The problem is with all knowledge ever at our fingertips, it’s hard to control that.
- This really long Alan Moore interview is absolutely worth it. Really fascinating read about one of the most interesting writers around.
Speaking of writing, this creepy story from cnet is a well written, well thought-out sci-fi story about a world where love can be brought and sold as a drug.
Creativity is a muscle, you just have to use it. Like practising scales or writing every day, good things happen when you decide to work every day on a project. You get better over time. It is ably proven by this great post of John Cutler who decided to doodle every day. I find the drawings fascinating and his analysis is spot on.
That’s it for now. Enjoy the darkening skies
Top image is Northern Lights by Harald Moltke