George Platt Lynes: Frederick Prokosch [writer] (c. 1950)

Worsen Our Collective Experience
I suspect that one of these days, the old Father Forgive Them For They Know Not What They Do routine will finally lose traction, especially in a country predicated upon the notion that we could and so really should be striving to improve rather than incessantly backpedaling. Our latest ignorance seems forced and unconvincing, as if we had not been living for the last three-quarters of a century. Ignorance didn't used to be a choice. It could appear without overdue blame before the Enlightenment. After, those who chose to ignore history's lessons tended to undermine themselves, so most avoided dabbling in it on anything like a societal scale, except for those who gained their power and authority by associating with the biggest losers in history. One by one, the more primitive philosophies bowed down to emerging realities, and while all was still not entirely right with this world, things were arguably better, enviably so.

But being human, we couldn't just accept obvious improvement and retire to smell sweet roses. Some dissatisfaction always persists even as dreams come true, and a few continue insisting that the good old days were better when they were demonstrably worse. Nostalgia for what had never been seems to have done us in again. We're resurrecting wrecks our fathers rid us of before most of us were born. Those who forget history's lessons seem destined to worsen our collective experience. Congratulations …

——

Weekly Writing Summary

This FollowingChapters Story, CounterIntuitive, finds me finally realizing that Intuitive User Interface was always a Great Myth. Man/machine interfaces defy intuition and always will. Maybe AI will finally resolve this shortcoming.

Jack Gould: Untitled [women lined up in front of counter, seen from behind shop counter] (c. 1950)
"We're destined to become mere observers of our computations."
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This FollowingChapters Story, DaysOff, explores why I don't take vacations. My work must be my play; otherwise, I might feel compelled to occasionally take vacations.

Russell Lee: Seaside, Oregon, is vacation spot (1941) - United States. Farm Security Administration
"My work, my play."
—

This FollowingChapters Story finds me filled with Trepidation while anticipating my copyeditor's feedback on my latest manuscript. Perhaps catastrophize this experience so it will seem better when it arrives. I can't imagine how it could be worse than my anticipation.

Alfred Stieglitz: Self-Portrait with camera, tripod, and pistol (1886)
"It feels like the thousand deaths …"
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This FollowingChapters Story, Moosenator, finds me describing my pet Moose, who's an integral part of my creative process and an irreplaceable companion.

John Woodhouse Audubon: Servus alces, Moose Deer. Old male & young. (1845-48)
" … a little heaven here in The Villa, so close to the center of our universe."
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This FollowingChapters Story finds me hiding in the cool basement from extremely hot and dry Summer temperatures. It's not necessarily the heat or the humidity that gets me, but the Humildity that does me in.

Wayne Miller: Heat Wave, August 1947 (1947)
" … shirts that wrinkle far too easily in such low humidity."
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This FollowingChapters Story finds Cluelessnesses thriving as history's pendulum swings wildly off course. I suggest that Cluelessnesses are not to be fixed, but better coped with.

Raphael Sadeler, the Elder: Allegory of Wealth, Lust, and Stupidity (1588)
" … some just manage to cope better with its presence."
—
Later, we might remember this writing week as the time when civilization, as we once anticipated it, disappeared. While that catastrophe was brewing, though, we went on living as if, for what else could any of us do? I began the week realizing that the concept of Intuitive User Interface was mythical, fictional, never real: CounterIntuitive. I then explained why I don't take vacations in DaysOff. My work has to be my play, or neither my work nor my play works for me. I next copped to feeling a weight of Trepidation on my shoulders as I anticipated the return of a manuscript from copyediting before publication. I then introduced an essential part of my creative team, my cat Max, the Moosenator, who has been my constant complaining companion throughout this writing week, as he has been in all prior ones. I then complained a bit about the infernal summer heat, grateful that I am no longer subjected to high humidity, in Humildity. Finally, I returned to the theme of the returning manuscript, which had not returned by writing week's end, a week late, in Cluelessnesses. A manuscript entitled Cluelessness couldn't possibly pass through final copyediting on time, could it? I woke up the morning after feeling an overwhelming sensation that something had passed, though I couldn’t quite put my hand on what. Thank you for following along.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #FollowingChapters, #PureSchmaltz