scrolling and scrolling
Stone Isles / Zach Knott / 2025
Hello.
Again, the gaping maw of time is slowly closing, but as always, I have thoughts.
On things.
If you’ve been reading this newsletter at all I think it’s pretty apparent that I’ve been attempting to assess my relationship with technology and, hopefully, make it into something healthier. It’s been a weird journey with a surprisingly amount of self-doubt and soul searching about the sort latent tech addiction that’s baked into to being a on-the-grid human in 2026. And how trying to free one’s self from that addiction almost immediately puts you on the outskirts of normal day-to-day existence. It’s a day-to-day struggle to not just pick up my phone at every opportunity, but also, a balance of realizing that I’m going to pick up my phone sometimes and doing so isn’t the end of the world. I’m not going to be able to extricate myself entirely from tech because tech is tangled in daily existence to a point where doing so would push me further outside the grid than I want to be. More so, I like tech. I like my computer. I like video games. I like knowing what song I’m listening to in my car without having to take my eyes of the road to check my phone. I’m not anti-tech or even fully anti-phone. I just want a relationship with technology where I don’t feel like I’m being manipulated by an algorithm, or getting itchy and shifty eyed if my phone isn’t in the same room with me. I smoked for a long time. I know what the gentle pull of addiction feels like and I don’t want that in my life anymore. That said, do I not enjoy a cigarette on the rare occasion after a few cocktails on a warm evening? I do. But I choose to do so not because I “need” to, but because I want to. Because I know the implications of doing so and I know the consequences of doing so and I’m still good with it. This where I want to be with my phone and with technology in general: intentionally choosing to use it. I don’t need to put deep thought into every time I search “what was Christian Slater’s name in Gleaming the Cube” but I’d at least like to take this action outside of the fugue state I feel usually accompanies using my phone. I want to acknowledge that this device in my hand has all the power to answer all my questions at any time and then decide to get those answers when it feels right, or not at all. Writing a thought this long about this subject seems silly because it breaks down to this: I want to think about my actions before I do them. Which seems so basic, but in a time of mini-supercomputers and artificial intelligence charting our days, the simplicity of just thinking through something seems of utmost importance.
Of all the many reasons getting old is hard for me, the hardest is knowing that I’m no longer fully aligned with what’s going on in the world. I’m not listening to all the new music. I don’t understand (or care about) new technology. Attempting to stay “stylish” feels like wearing young person cosplay. On my lower days, aging can feel like a constant sanding down of my identity. Actively choosing to step back from things like social media and even artificial intelligence feel weightier, because I’m actively choosing to separate myself even more from a pack that I’m already starting to lag behind.
I got a new phone recently. There was a lengthy existential spiral (TLDR: Should I get a new phone? Should I get a dumb phone? Should I get a landline? Oh that iPhone is pretty. I’ll get that. What have I done? Oh lord, what have I done?) and then a lengthy frustration spiral where it became evident that I had fucked up the transfer from old phone to new phone and was now left with what amounted to a freshly scrubbed supercomputer. Panic ensued. Things were lost. But after all of it I am once again in the warm, loving arms of Apple. That said, in this teeth-grinding process, I ended up without Instagram on my phone. I’ve been inching towards ditching IG for a while now but I imagined that when I did there would be some feeling of loss, or remorse that I could no longer follow what my friends and celebrity friends were eating and/or thinking about the state of the world. I was wrong. It took me a week to realize that IG was no longer a part of my life, that I hadn’t tapped on the stupid, orange camera in seven days, and that a lack of force fed updates and advertisements was missing from my life. The loss of IG was shocking not because of the effect it had, but of the absolute lack of effect it had. It didn’t make a hole in my life. It didn’t cause any rupture. It was just gone without any sort of effect. Which, if you even scrape the surface of thinking about it, is absolutely wild. This is a program that prior to this I interacted with on a daily basis for years of my life. I’ve spent untold hours scrolling and scrolling and scrolling and when the tool used to do this scrolling is suddenly, without warning, removed from my life I feel … nothing? It points to how little agency I’ve had over my interactions with Instagram, how much I’ve just thought of it is a constant without thinking about why I was using it or what I was gaining from it. It’s not to say that IG doesn’t have benefits, but for me, these benefits seemingly weren’t enough to make any actual impact when I no longer had access to them. It feels strange, but also, it feels good.
As it turns out I can’t not write about technology. Is this a technology newsletter? Or maybe, this is a newsletter about technology from a luddite? Are all of you reading this each week thinking, “Remember when Noah used to talk about child rearing or books?” Yeah, me too.
quotin’
“We assume people are busy. That doesn’t mean they don’t want depth, it just means you have to earn it.”
- Chris Stang, Founder, The Infatuation
things other people are doing
The very talented Joe Wadlington (of SF’s most beloved reading series, Happy Endings) has a new project concerning the production of one-act plays. Are you a director based in SF? A writer based in SF? An actor based in SF? Well, then, you might think of reaching out to Joe Wadlington and showing your interest in this nascent endeavor.
“Astro Mischief” / Preeti Vangani
Not to make this a Preeti Vangani fan newsletter, but her new collection—Fifty Mothers—is out in the world and I just spent a fascinating hour talking with her about it. It’ll be a second before that appears on the site, but until then, get a taste of just how good this collection is over at LitHub.
done done
Sudden Death / Àlvaro Enrigue, trans. Natasha Wimmer
Àlvaro Enrigue is one of my favorite literary discoveries of the last decade. Strange, funny, perverse, rife with big ideas—it’s absolutely charming in the darkest way. That said, Natasha Wimmer, the translator of Enrigue (and Roberto Bolaño and so much more) is a discovery all her own. The language of this, and You Dreamed of Empires, climbs off the page and nestles itself in your frontal lobe. It is so full of emotion and meaning it feels like you could rest a beer on it and this is as much Enrigue’s skill as a writer, as it is Wimmer’s ability to transfer that meaning from one language to the next. Highly recommended.
The Emissary / Yoko Tawada, trans. Margaret Mitsutani
This won’t be the last time in this newsletter I say this about a piece of well-received art, but, I didn’t get The Emissary. It’s my fault. I understand that. But still, Tawada’s novella about a future Japan where the old never die and the young are born already close to death is less a book and more an exercise in world building peppered with a few character moments. The ideas are good, and often times deeply disturbing, but the book never goes from interesting concepts to well executed story. Maybe it doesn’t want to, but it suffers because of it.
in the middle
This book starts with a giant of a man n(so big, a full-sized axe looks like a hatchet) named Hawk, climbing naked out of a hole he’s carved in the Antarctic ice. Sold.
The Secret Agent, d. Kleber Mendonca Filho
There is next to nothing I dislike about The Secret Agent. Mendonca Filho continues to apply his vast skills to exploring the darker history of Brazil within a roughly genre structure. Wagner Moura is quietly outstanding as a man on the run for next to nothing. The entire film glows with a soft, warm afternoon light. It’s lovely and a joy to watch but every time anyone asks me about it my first descriptor is “obtuse.” It’s overflowing with characters and ideas and beautiful imagery but the core is so knotted with themes I just couldn’t grab on to any one thing long enough to feel fully invested in the film. I blame it on my lack of knowledge about the tragic history of Brazil and, of course, all the brain rot. Regardless, Recommended.
I really had a tight grasp on my music listening these first few months of 2026, but more time means more releases, and I feel like I’m absolutely drowning in new stuff again. That said, I bring this on myself. If I feel like the weekly playlist is scant I go hunting and the return is always too much for me too eat.
we like songs
Everything is a little bit grungy this week. But it’s a little grunge with a single daub of glitter on it.
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This band is going to be huge.
I can’t tell if Luke Temple has been listening to a lot of Talking Heads or I’ve been listening to a lot of Talking Heads, but this feels like the Talking Heads.
Jangly but sanguine, my favorite genre.
It feels like one of those rainbow oil slicks floating on dirty water.
Jon Dwyer must never sleep, and when he does he must dream of music.
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All of the song, we, uh, like, right here.
Bee boo boop bee boop.
Or something.
Talk soon.
N