Welcome back, or I guess welcome me back. Either way, one of us has returned from an unexpected absence.

So, let me start this time, even though I always do. I’ve been informed I was in the hospital for a week. Now it's the time when you ask, “Informed?” “week?”, yes. It is interesting to me as it is to you because I don’t remember signing up for a week-long stay, but my brain did that on my behalf. And I guess that concerned people. The doctors looked relieved when i woke up, and my therapist appeared out of nowhere. My housemate explained things too many times because my memory was as consistent as a wet paper. I remember enough, not all of it, but enough, and here where it gets all messy Bessy. I don’t remember disappearing in the first place, I know, shockking newws. waking up with being told that i have successfully erased seven days of my life, hospital staff called it a medically induced coma. a very “very” expensive term for being locked inside your own skull while machines pump your lungs for you. i guess that’s very luxurious to hear now. Im back home, and its too quiet it feels like twenty years have passed. My housemate sat by the bed today and told me everyone was worried. And for him to say it twice that day he continued on saying that people were coming in and out of the ICU the entire week, talking to me, crying, checking my vitals. I didn’t hear a single syllable. Had no idea anyone was even there. and for the nurses to keep checking if i knew my own name. i still think it passed a year or something in between, but nobody is willing to tell me. They told me today that the breathing tube was just standard medical protocol. Standard medical protocol? Are you serious? i was suffocating because my throat was full of plastic pipes choking me, gagging me. It wasn’t a machine doing it. it was just someone wearing the face of a woman that i “allegedly” used to know.

It’s just hilarious how this all turned out. i posted a blog a while ago called Index. the one where i was rambling about how the 12th of June is a special day. And let me tell you this. This certainly wasn’t the expected conclusion. I did not plan for the punchline to be a week in intensive care. But here we are what an excellent plot twist. And I haven’t even started on the “sleeping coma” seven god damn days of running through every wretched room my brain could salvage. The old house, hospital walls, parts of old houses stitched together with parts of the hospitals and things that don’t exist at all that i can even write. I even tried hiding behind old mistakes and things i thought id buried forever, but someone would just. And I’m using someone here, so silly. i meant you. You would just drag those corpses back up, literally wore them. peeled back the skin and stepped right inside. I’d look at a face i thought i destroyed, but it would split open into that same expression, holding my head, whispering something while choking me, and then saying, “ill hunt you forever”. for the past fucking seven days. That’s where i was. Now stop asking me about it. That’s not even the craziest thing i heard as i was waking up. i also “apparently” attempted to leave the hospital at some point. I have absolutely no memory of this and therefore reserve the right to deny all allegations. but unfortunately, four witnesses exist, so instead I’ll settle for saying that if i did attempt to escape, it was probably because waking up attached to machines while nobody is giving you a useful explanation is not an enjoyable experience. To make sure you’re still with me, I took too many pills, injected drugs in my blood, and went missing for a week, woke up totally confused, trying to make a run for it, being told i nearly succeeded at dying, and then being sent home with instructions to ‘take it easy.’ Makes total sense, right? you would think having schizophrenia would give me some actual experience with losing my mind, but apparently im still a complete amateur who needs an entire ICU team to do it properly. So yeah, I am back. at least my body is still here writing. mentally. i think i am still stuck in those nightmares.

Alright, that’s all fun and jokes, folks. This body needs an actual sleep after all that. We’ll continue tomorrow.

Sincerely, Not fixing anything, deal with it all, maybe i will fix it tomorrow who knows.

Ahmed

In Summary: * Spent entirely too much frustrating time wrestling with my computer printer. Wound up ordering a set of ink cartridges that should be delivered early tomorrow morning. Want to (need to) print two items for tomorrow afternoon.

Listening to Indianapolis sports talk on 1070 The Fan ahead of tonight's WNBA game between the Indiana Fever and the Atlanta Dream. I'll stay here for the radio call of that game.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 235.9 lbs. * bp= 149/86 (70)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:00 – 1 banana, 1 oatmeal raisin cookie * 06:30 – 1 ham & cheese sandwich * 09:30 – mashed potatoes * 12:30 – breaded pork chops, cut green beans, baked beans

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:40 – bank accounts activity monitored. * 05:00 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, nap * 12:00 to 14:00 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 14:15 – begin following Rangers vs Twins MLB Game * 16:40 – and the Twins win, 9 to 3. * 17:00 – listen to Indianapolis sports talk on 1070 The Fan

Chess: * 15:45 – moved in all pending CC games

7 June 2026

Stand (working title): something of a still life of the yellow mimosa flowers Yena got me a couple months ago in a vase on my nightstand. Been wanting to paint them for a while because they look like a small controlled explosion, but I couldn’t figure out the approach until today. Arrived at the idea of a volatile form rendered in a subdued palette—negation of a defining characteristic often opens up possibilities. I suppose I must have been thinking of those Santa Maria Zobenigo marble reliefs I mentioned a couple days ago. As well as the Polaroid I took of a campfire in Winchester in August of 2024. And Duchamp's literally seminal Paysage Fautif (Wayward or Faulty Landscape) (1946) painting that I’ve had on my studio floor this week. This all has to do with the surface as well—trying to find some way to divert attention from it by muting and flattening it as much as possible while still retaining an active sense of motion and depth and change through it.

Several years back I was broke and working 4 jobs and extremely frustrated about how hard it was to get around on the MBTA. (I was literally trying to get from Community College to Downtown Crossing on the Orange Line, which should be a simple thing but never was.). Frustrated, I started a website challenging Massachusetts politicians to take the T.

Which got me on a panel on a local TV show with a former secretary of transportation and a guy from The Pioneer Institute, a pernicious bunch of losers who don’t believe in the public good. They were the pro- and anti- public transportation guys, and I was the regular Joe T rider. Before the show, these two guys talked cordially about things happening in their social circle. I could not be civil to the Pioneer Institute guy because he had the ear of our then-governor and his influence was making my already stressful work life even worse. But the former secretary of transportation had no such difficulty.

I wrote something snarky about this at the time that conveyed my anger but also made me look like an asshole. (Sadly, I have a real talent for this kind of writing.) But what I was trying to say was that the whole debate was a game to these guys. It didn’t affect them like it affected me. And if it did, they’d probably have a harder time making banal small talk with each other.

Which brings me to Peter Thiel. You know, the Bond villain who runs the surveillance company and owns J.D. Vance? The guy who’s obsessed with the apocalypse and the antichrist? Who moved his family to Argentina because he’s afraid of the plebes rising up in the US? Well, turns out Mr. Tech genius was holding some kind of conference for powerful people, and the agenda and attendees were visible in plain text by looking at the code for the website. Oops!. As The Nation puts it: Session titles include “Money (Does?) Buy Happiness,” “Bring Back Nuclear,” “Navigating WWIII,” “Battlefield Technologies,” and, somewhat randomly, “How’s Your Sex Life?” “Other talks include ‘Build-a-Cult,’ moderated by the founder of the Christian networking site Pray.com,” write Wired correspondents Dell Cameron and Yulia Almazova, “and ‘Build-a-Party,’ run by a former White House national security official.”

Yikes. So there are a lot of unsurprising names going to this thing: Ted Cruz, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, Jared Kushner, Elon Musk, and Grover Norquist.

But also? Democrats Preet Bahara, Cory Booker, Robert Rubin, Jim O’Neill, Lisa Monaco, Margaret Hamburg, Atul Gawande, Wes Moore, and centrist podcaster and self-styled expert on what Democrats need to do to win Ezra Klein. (Also, weirdly: Joseph Gordon Leavitt?)

And a bunch of other corporate shitbirds as well as Epstein pal Steven Pinker.

About a year ago I wrote a thing about the ignorant, classist take that was going around that pro wrestling somehow explained the Trump presidency. It’s a good piece—you should read it.

Reading about Thiel’s little party, I started thinking about kayfabe again (for the uninitiated, that’s the wrestling-specific term for the show of wrestling—the characters, the feuds, the stories that make the matches more exciting. Actually it covers the matches too. It’s basically everything about wrestling that’s a performance. So, like, the whole thing.). And I realized that though I’d framed my snarky piece about the MBTA TV panel as being about civility, it was really about kayfabe—putting on a show for the marks.

Looking at Thiel’s list of attendees, I think I can be forgiven for concluding that much of American politics is kayfabe. Corey Booker is great at thundering on the mic in committee meetings for YouTube clips that the perpetually unkempt Meidas Touch guy will report breathlessly. But apparently Booker is just cutting promos like Macho Man Randy Savage. (Actually, he just wishes his mic game was as strong as Macho Man’s. But I digress.)

Ezra Klein will probably come out with some think piece about how Democrats need to embrace bigotry and Peter Thiel’s crazy eschatology in order to win in November, which is horrible, but even his assertion that he cares about Democrats winning is kayfabe. He’s fine either way!

With this many establishment Democrats going to bend the knee to an unhinged, power-mad personification of evil, I don’t see how the Democratic establishment can be mad at voters for thinking the game is rigged. To put it another way: if ostensible opponents Cruz and Booker are both working for Thiel (and, more broadly, the Epstein class), who’s working for us?

The thrust of those pieces about how wrestling explains Trump was “ha ha, the rubes love a good show, that’s why they fell for Trump.”

Except here’s an important thing to understand about wrestling: everyone is in on the joke. Wrestlers, broadcasters, refs, fans—we all understand perfectly well what’s going on. So perhaps people are more sophisticated at spotting bullshit when they see it than folks inside the beltway think, which could explain why even voters who hate the Republican party are not excited about the Democratic party.

We know what it’s like when people who are genial co-workers pretend to have vicious feuds and insult each other ruthlessly. We understand that Peter Thiel and his ilk are setting the agenda no matter which party controls government. Yes, there will be some non-trivial differences in how the parties govern. But the bottom line is that the interests of the Thiel/Epstein class are always going to take precedence over ours.

When all these people are hanging out together, when all our politicians are bending the knee to the same big money people, American politics is strictly kayfabe. And the sad thing is, it’s not even a good show.

Minnesota Twins vs Texas Rangers

Seeing me through the remainder of this Thursday afternoon is a MLB Game, the Minnesota Twins vs my Texas Rangers. I join the game already in progress with the Twins leading 4 to 0 in the bottom of the 3rd inning. The radio call of this game is provided by 105.3 The Fan, DFW's #1 Sports Station.

And the adventure continues.

It's allegedly Autistic Pride Day, and I'm fucking pissed

Recommended prior reading: Nyalra's Self-Harm So I Don't Kill Myself

Hi, I'm someone who just spent a few weeks learning that what I thought was 5 years of forward progress away from an unhealthy coping mechanism was, in actuality, me bottling up my emotions for half a fucking decade and wondering why I felt like worthless garbage. I'm pissed at a world that's so thoroughly ABA and CBT coded that I stalled on what ended up being a core part of my mental health recovery for 20% of my lifespan thus far. This is not going to be “good” writing. This is a vent post.

The societal relationship and understanding of self-harm is genuinely one of the singular most destructive things I have had to interact with on a regular basis. Few things are as conducive to helping people seek “remission” (a term I bear a significant grudge with), as the way we react to seeing people who self-harm. We treat self-harming as the problem, not a symptom of some greater issue. We treat the idea of self-harm as something appalling; a sign that someone is truly so far gone that there is literally nothing worse they could do to themselves than commit suicide. This attitude is utterly counterproductive. Everyone I know who has or does self-harm cites a very similar experience. When you're in a truly dire situation, when it feels like the worst it's ever been, the answer is simple: grab that razor blade, spark that lighter, pick up a sewing needle, bare your teeth, or just find a fucking wall. Pain is a visceral thing, it bypasses everything else in our body and mind to sound every alarm. It is the lightning rod to suicidality's thunderstorm, a quick blast to the system that brings you down from the ledge. It's the relief valve on a pressure cooker; a high no drug could ever hope to match. Self-harm can directly provide the brain with endorphins, so why the fuck would I go for a 30-minute walk when a 5-second cut gets me just as well taken care of. When I'm deep in the mix, the last thing I want to “fix” is something that feels good for even a fleeting fucking moment. Between when I last stopped cutting and when I started up again, I regularly dealt with delusions that the universe was telling me to cut again (that twitter post a friend sent you? that person's alt is a shtwit account. that person who got hacked and sent you a mr. beast crypto scam? the last thing you talked about 7 years ago was your attempts to stop cutting. c'mon, don't you wanna remember what it's like?); hallucinations in my arm of blood building up and getting stuck, begging to be let free; a cloud over my mind, such a persistent feeling of brainfog that I forgot what clarity was like. I'm still mad at those around me that forced me to stop well before I was ready.

So, what does the subtitle have to do with all of this? Simply put, autistic people have a significantly higher rate of self-harm, with some studies putting it as high as three times more prominent than the neurotypical population. Autistic people are often significantly more sensory seeking than neurotypical peers, and pain is a fucking excellent sensation. Autistic people often experience heightened emotional reactions to things, and pain is second to none at bringing those emotions back to something digestible. A significant majority of autistic people I have interacted with in emotional situations have done something that could be classified as self-harm. Often, it's simply slapping or punching part of themselves. Thighs are common, they're soft and fleshy and can take a good beating. Some people slam their head lightly, and while it's not for me, I get why they do it. My go to, and the default to many people I've known, is cutting. It's a sensation we don't get often in daily life, it's easy to do, easy to hide, easy to find the equipment for. Societal perceptions of self-harm, especially on the “less severe” end, are often deeply interwoven with societal ableism. It's an axis by which autistic folks are separated from neurotypical folks, “high functioning” from “low functioning”, acceptable from unacceptable. Treating people this this discourages from talking about their experiences with self-harm and potentially finding either community or “remission” as a result.

Ultimately though, none of this includes me. I come at this from a slightly different position than most people I know. I cut because I just fucking love cutting. It's a grounding mechanism, yes, but it's also a form of enjoyable automasochism. There's a ritual, a process, a philosophy. It is an axis for bodily autonomy at a time where I'm dealing with a family who does not fuck with the idea of me doing HRT (especially not DIY, which I'm doing right now). I could make up some higher-level concept of liberation and bullshit, but at the end of the day I just think it's siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick. I get to watch the wounds as they heal day to day, I get to make my own bandages, I get to feel as they brush against my sleeves, it's just fucking hype. I don't want to stop cutting, at least right now.

So, like, what's the whole point of this nonsense? What actionable beliefs can be taken away from this? In my opinion, I think the societal perspective on self-harm should shift from the outright shock and horror that it is right now, to something closer to modern liberatory perspectives on drug usage and kink. What's so fuckin' different between knifeplay and cutting? The presence of a second person? For my 2¢, I don't think that makes it any better. Is it the idea that kink happens in “healthier headspaces?” I tend to find perspectives like that are inherently unfair towards people with certain mental illnesses. I just want people to chill the fuck out. I get if people don't want the (at times literally) gory details, but I'd like to feel like others don't see me as a lesser human. I'd like to be able to talk about it in at least the same cadence as I talk about my weed usage, something I do that I believe benefits me even if others disagree, and something that (and this is where woke is gonna kill me) I believe others can and should do if they believe it will benefit them. Discussion of processes, risks, and benefits should be heavily destigmatized, both to make those who do self-harm do so safer and so that people who want to quit can feel fuckin' safe to talk about it. Right now, the best resource a lot of people like that have is shtwit, (allegedly) a complete fuckin toxic cesspool even beyond its “enabling of toxic behavior”. My external, unexperienced perception is that it's a place for a very specific type of person, and that people like me, who may be fat, or trans, or a person of color, or just not conventionally attractive, are unlikely to be welcomed. For me, I would love a space where I could talk about this, destigmatized, with other people who self-harm. For what I think others should do? Just be that space for someone. Be mindful of your own boundaries, of course, but try and listen with an open mind as much as you can. Self-harm can feel like the loneliest shit in the universe with how people treat SHers, be the one to break that cycle for folks, you feel me?

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

ليلة الجمعة 4 محرم 1448

وميض: ظننت أن ذلك الزميل الذي أحادثه ويحادثني ينفعني حين أحتاج إليه. سألته وقد انقضت المصلحة الجامعة أن يرسل إليّ شيئًا يسيرًا ينفعني ولا يضره. فكان جوابه (نعم هنيئة) وليتها كانت (لا مريحة) [1]. ومضت الأيام حتى انقضت حاجتي إلى تلك الحاجة!

ليس أحدنا بريئًا من خذلان من يحتاج إليه لكننا نسأل الله المغفرة وأن يجعلنا عند حسن الظن.

-

أولئك الرفاق الذين يبحرون في غمار المحيط الأزرق الهائل. محيط لينكدن الذي استولى على أكثر المهنيين، وصار استكشافه شرطًا من شروط النجاح المهني والثقة بخبرة من يتقدم إلى الوظائف أو يبيع منتجاته إلى الناس.

يطلب أحدهم الدعم فيهب أصحابه ليسعفوه بالإعجاب والتعليق. ويغدو التعارف في لينكدن سببًا وثيقًا لزيادة الزملاء (connections) ومعرفة أخبارهم، وتتبع تاريخهم المهني، ومراسلتهم عند الحاجة.

لا يكاد أحدٌ يصبح في ذلك المحيط أو يمسي من غير أن يسوِّق لنفسه أو خبرته، ويتفنن في اختيار أغرب العناوين التي تخطف الألباب، ويحتال في كيده ليلقي إلى من يطالع منشوره طعمًا لا ينال منه أكثر ما يريد بل قليلًا يحمله على إدمان المتابعة وانتظار المزيد.

لن أنسى أن أضيف العبارة (إلا من رحم الله) لأن التجربة لا تستحق أن تروى أو تحكى بغير هذا الاستثناء البديهي. إنه يقنعنا -أو يوهمنا- بأن ما نرويه يخلو من المبالغة والمجازفة.

ليس المحيط الأزرق بعيدًا عن محيط الشركات التي نعمل فيها جميعًا صباح مساء (ثمان ساعات وأكثر) لتحقيق مستهدفاتنا، وإثبات مراكزنا، ومنافسة أقراننا، ونيل راتبٍ يكفينا إلى آخر الشهر الميلادي القادم (ولا أدري متى ننال الراتب في الشهر القمري الهجري).

نجتمع في غرفة الطعام أو المطبخ، فنتآكل ونتحادث ويصغي أحدنا إلى أخيه حتى يفرغ من طعامه سندويتشًا كان أم صحنًا. ولا يلبث أن يراه بعد قليل فيحدثه عن مشروعٍ يعمل عليه، أو يشكو من زميلٍ آخر، أو يستدرجه ليسمع منه سرًا لم يكن يعرفه.

نخرج من محيط الشركة إلى المحيط الأزرق فنتسارع إلى طلب الإضافة، ويصانع أحدنا أخاه بتفاعلٍ عابر مع بعض المنشورات، وقد يسأله عنها في اليوم التالي.

تمر الأيام والشهور، فتنقطع الصلة لانقطاع سببها، ويرق حبل الوداد، وتنتهي المؤاكلة والمحادثة، ويغدو القريب غريبًا، والرفيق الحاضر زميلًا سابقًا.

لم تكن تلك العلاقة المهنية سوى رفقة طارئة في طائرة لا تعبأ بتعاقب الركاب والسائقين.

يدخل أحدنا إلى الشركة مجرَّدًا من كل شيء فيتسلح بما عندها من الأجهزة والأدوات والعلاقات، وقد ينسى مع كثرة الملابسة وانغماسه في العمل أن ذلك كله زائل إذا خرج من الباب وانتهت مدته عندهم وانقضت عدته منهم.

أترى المحيط الأزرق بعيدًا عن الشركات التي عملنا بها كبيرة كانت أم صغيرة؟ أتظنه يخلو من الجشع والرغبة في إنهاك المستخدمين مع قلة العائد وانتفاء الجدوى؟

إن كنت تحسن الظن بما عندك في المحيط من علاقات وحضور رقمي، فجرِّب -ولو أيامًا معدودات- أن تخرج عنه، وأن تعتزل أخباره، وتستريح من منشوراته المكررة ومقترحات خوارزمياته، والمحتوى الذي لا يحوي شيئًا مما يهمك.

أتستطيع عندئذٍ أن تتقدم إلى وظيفةٍ تريدها أو منصب تطمح إليه بلا رحلة شاقة في مضماره الطويل؟

أتستطيع أن تجتمع مرة أخرى بالرفاق والزملاء أو تتواصل معهم بلا تكلف ممجوج أو تصنع كاذب؟

أتستطيع أن تدخل إلى السوق وتستحوذ على العملاء بلا راية تائهة ترفعها في وسط البحر الغادر؟

ألا ينبغي أن نُخِرج ما نريده من المحيط الكبير إلى محيطنا الصغير؟ ألا ينبغي أن نهتم بعصفورٍ في أيدينا وندع مئات العصافير في أشجارٍ بعيدة المنال؟

أكتب إليكم هذا المقال عسى أن أُخرِج أنفس ما كتبته في لينكدن، وأستخرج منه صفوة معارفي -وكلهم إن شاء الله من الصفوة-. وعسى أن نجد جميعًا برَّ الأمان ونظفر أخيرًا بما يفيدنا وينفعنا.

وأسأل الله عز وجل أن يجعل عامنا الهجري 1448 مثمرًا ناجعًا ناجعًا بلا محيطٍ لا يحيط!

البراء بن محمد

كاتب مختص بتطوير الأعمال والتقويم الهجري

1:20 من ليلة الجمعة 4 محرم 1448

هامش

—

[1] جاء في المحاسن والأضداد للجاحظ: (وطلب العتابي من رجل حاجة، فقضى له بعضها ومطله ببعض، فكتب إليه: أما بعد فقد تركتني منتظرًا لوعدك منتجزًا لفردك، وصاحب الحاجة محتاجٌ إلى نعم هنيئة أو لا مريحة. والعذر الجميل أحسن من المطل الطويل) اهـ

Tijd voor een goed onderbouwd gebed Van Voorbijgaande Aard

Nou god, wat mij betreft is een hoofdletter niet nodig u heeft ook geen hoofd, daar is verder niet veel over bekend maar anders was er vast wel een foto van in alle zichzelf serieus nemende relie gemeenten, zeker bij mij thuis aan de wand. Ik wou u zeggen dat ik de nodige zaken heb die spelen, soms zelfs problematisch zijn en het lijkt mij goed dat u mij daarbij helpt, meteen. Niet eerst weer die anderen helpen omdat zij eerder vragen of beter adverteren met hun hoogoplopende zaak, veel geblink en geschitter met hun overbelichte ellende, nee ik kan beter eerst, want als mijn strubbelingen over zijn dan zijn volgens mij de problemen van anderen ook wel over. Alles hangt tenslotte samen voor zover ik weet en nou dan kunt u net zo goed mij aanhoren en meteen ingrijpen zodat vanaf nu alles hier op rolletjes loopt behalve de dingen die moeten glijden en dingen die stil moeten blijven liggen en zo. Ik heb de problematische gebieden in het leven van mij, dus iedereen, allemaal in mijn buurt net als vice versje, afgebakend en geplaatst op deze fraai uitgetekende kaart. Hier ben ik op locatie A plus en dit hier zijn de plekken waarop dingen spelen, B C D min F G en dan nog H2O. Hier en daar heb ik knooppunten als x jes uitgebeeld zodat u meteen ziet waar u moet ingrijpen, zelf heb ik zoveel ingegrepen dat ik inmiddels niet meer weet waar ik nog iets tussen moet zetten of anders verwijderen dat ik het inmiddels beter aan een expert zoals u overlaat, u heeft deze vele mogelijkheden op moeilijkheden klaarblijkelijk ook gemaakt dan kunt u ze natuurlijk ook simpelweg ongedaan maken en er een vlot lopende beweging naar boven van maken, zodat ik vanaf de top ongeveer hetzelfde zie als u of een ander duidelijker waarneembaar type sateliet. Super tof. Bij C ziet u zelfs twee kruisjes en een asterisk als u daar begint dan is D waarschijnlijk ook direct weg. Denkt u niet, Nou aan de slag zou ik zeggen. Ik neem later nog contact op en dan hoop ik dat u mij het goede nieuws brengt, dat ik meteen lekker opstoom in de vaart der volkeren en dat dit volk ook super gelukkig is omdat dankzij de ingrepen in mijn leven ook hun moeizame zakengang langzaam maar zeker beter wordt, iedereen alles bijlegt en elkaar steunt door dik en dun en zo, hartstikkene mooi, dat zie ik graag weet u, en dat kunt u regelen door daar zo op die posities iets te doen zodat ik daar onbelemmerd zaken kan doen en vervolgens daar ook naar binnen ga als regen na lange droge periode, en ook die wereld rijp is voor mijn persoonsgebonden kapitalistisch model, fijn of niet. Succes! De mazzel, ik merk het wel en eh amen, laters.

After all that work; building, cutting, measuring, maneuvering, digging and setting a new home for the plants we’ve been cultivating; it leads to this. An empty space, a void, a hole in the ground, and a deep sense of sadness and loss just as the evidence of fruit was showing. Why this unhappy outcome and this gnarly finish to years of pruning, supporting and caring?

A fungus colloquially called orange bramble rust that infects wild brambles, blackberries, and black raspberries had appeared. The infection is systemic, meaning it makes the current growth sick, infects the crown and the roots, Every new growth would become weaker, sicker, and less fruitful. Worse yet, the spores contained in the waxy pustules on the leaves could spread the infection to other healthy plants. There was no way to prune or treat the plant in a manner that would restore healthy functioning. A slow and miserable withering and the loss of capacity to bear fruit was all we could look forward to.

This meant that I had to go against every gardening instinct in my body, to destroy what was not yet ripe and the bring this beautiful plant that had fed us to an end. It was the only way to try and preserve the remaining bushes.

The process was painstaking, because I wanted to minimize the spread of spores. So I dismantled the plant by hand, branch by branch with pruning shears and heavy trash bags to seal up the infected remains. I cannot compost, burn, or shred these without a risk of bringing the fungus to other plants.

After cutting away everything, I had the challenging task of digging up the crown and trying to pull as many roots out of the ground as possible, knowing that any new growth from a remnant of this plant would still be infected. The solemn proceeding of this experience was filled with so many feelings. Grief, disappointment, anger, relief, sorrow all came calling until the last of the roots were bagged and sealed up.

In this moment, I realized that so much of my work and ministry happens in deep tension with systemic factors that keep bringing the social illness and harm back to life, over and over. I am aware of my own laden feelings, and the voices inside me pleading to rescue even a part of this magnificent structure we have cultivated. They cry out “Let’s just cut away the parts that are sick! What if we save the parts that don’t look too bad? Couldn’t we wait until we receive the benefit of all these berries? So much love, attention, care, and cost has been sunk into this structure, surely we can save the system by a little light pruning and some fungicide spray!”

While not so horticultural in nature, are these not the very voices that have the power to stay the hand of even those of us who are desperate to alleviate pain and to make things better for our neighbors who are withering under systemic oppression? The desire to save, to preserve, to get one more thing out of the whole sick bramble, it not only deludes us into putting the shears away, but it creates the illusion that maybe it will be okay somehow. The same forces that paralyze our bodies and our action also numb and dissociate our deep feelings of loss and grief as we try to prepare for something new. Even as the evidence, says that to have a chance for life, radical change is necessary, I can feel the temptation to tinkering around the edges. When advocates speak of dismantling white supremacy or structural poverty or patriarchy, it looks more like taking down the bramble then some sort of stochastic revolutionary implosion. When the whole system is sick, the whole system needs to go, and we will need deep forbearance and love to journey through the empty space before something new emerges.

This meant it was important to not only do the deed, and to do it with great care, but to do it completely, and to give myself permission to feel all of those feelings as I worked. Snip, snip, snip. Spraying the neighboring plants. Digging and pulling and chopping. Bagging and sealing and mourning. Making the ground ready. Ready for rest and rejuvenation, and for cleansing. Ready to receive new life, something that is not susceptible to this blight, perhaps a beautiful red raspberry that will take years to nurture into the same stature and magnificence.

For now, I will sit with the empty space, grieve, and give thanks for the past fruits and especially for the courage to act. The Holy One will dwell in that emptiness right alongside me, all around me, deep within me, and in that hole, ensuring that it is not a grave, but rather a furrow.

Samantha hugged Paul when she arrived in the hotel's breakfast room. “Good morning, dear,” he said. “Did you sleep well?” “Like a fucking rock,” she said. She quickly looked over his shoulder to check her hair in the big mirror on the opposite wall. It was looking great! She felt fit. “Let's sit here then, shall we?” Paul said as he offered her a seat next to the window. “I'm so excited for my new tattoo!” Sam said. “Is that this weekend?” Paul asked. “Yeah, I'm leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow,” she squealed. Her curls bounced around her head. Paul briefly glanced outside. The window overlooked the park at the middle of the square. Then he looked back at Sam. “Is Tony going with you?” he asked her. “No, just me and the girls” she said. Paul nodded. He knew Jaz and Stella well. “You know that Tony and I have been together for over five years already?” Sam asked. “Has it been that long?” he asked. “Yeah, it's so crazy.” “I remember that you almost got back together with, what was his name?” “Mike!” “Yes, Mike!” Paul shrugged. “I know...” Sam said. “I know you've been with him for a long time, and I love you and all, but... That bloke was not right in his head, if you don't mind me saying so.” Sam snorted. “I know!” “You were already dating Tony at the time, weren't you?” “I had known Tony for months, but we were just friends at first,” she said. “And he knew all about my turbulent relationship with Mike. And everyone had told me to break up with him: Stella, you, Jaz, Hannah...” “Hannah, I had almost forgotten about her! Have you heard from her recently?” Paul wondered if she was joining the Edinburgh tattoo trip. “Not very recently, no, she moved to Sweden with that guy she was seeing.” “Sweden!” “I know,” she said and rolled her eyes. “But so, as I was saying. All those girls, my sister, my mom... they all told me to get over Mike.” “Everyone.” “Literally everyone!” she laughed. “And I had moved out. But then we met again, and there was this instant attraction again, you know. And although everyone told me: noooo! I just fell for him again.” She paused. Paul just listened. “So when I got back to his place, you know, there was still a lot of my stuff from before I had moved out. It was a bit creepy to be honest. He still had my Pikachu blanket and a framed photo that we bought on holidays.” “After how much time was that?” “Well, we had broken up, I would say, at least two years before.” “Ouch!” “Yeah, and that wasn't even the worst of it. You know, when we were living together, he used to put on a movie when we were ready to sleep. It was just a habit, you know.” “Which movies?” “Old movies mostly. Toy Story, for some reason, and Nemo Fish.” “Nemo Fish,” Paul repeated. “That's what Mike used to call it: Nemo Fish. So, when I went back to his place, and Tony knows all this...” “Of course.” “Like that same evening, he then put on a movie. And it was like we directly fell into all our old habits. And that's when I knew I couldn't do that anymore.” “I'm really glad you realized it in time.” “Don't get me wrong, I love Tony a lot. But it's very different, he's like my best friend. I know we are good together. But with Mike...” “Yeah.” “So, yeah. Shall we get the bill?”

Wer regelmässig wissenschaftliche Erkenntnisse über Lesen, #Lernen und ähnliche Themen konsultiert, begegnet einem vertrauten Muster. Irgendwo erscheint eine neue Studie. Wenige Tage später folgen die populärwissenschaftlichen Schlagzeilen: Papier sei dem Bildschirm überlegen, Bücher förderten das Verständnis, digitale Medien erschwerten die Konzentration. Die Studien unterscheiden sich, die Botschaft bleibt konstant.

Auch vor wenigen Tagen machte eine solche Untersuchung die Runde. Sie kommt zu einem ähnlichen Schluss wie viele ihrer Vorgänger: Wer auf Papier liest, verarbeitet komplexe Inhalte offenbar effizienter als jemand, der denselben Text auf einem digitalen Gerät liest. Doch während ich die Berichte darüber las, blieb ich an einer anderen Frage hängen. Nicht daran, ob Papier Vorteile hat. Sondern daran, was genau eigentlich mit „Bildschirm“ gemeint ist. Denn je länger ich mich mit dem Thema beschäftige, desto mehr habe ich den Eindruck, dass wir über digitales Lesen oft in viel zu groben Kategorien sprechen.

Was die Studie zeigt – und was nicht

Die Studie Manga reading on paper vs. digital devices [1] liess Studierende einen Manga entweder in gedruckter Form oder auf einem Tablet lesen und untersuchte anschliessend ihre Hirnaktivität mittels funktioneller Magnetresonanztomografie.

Die Ergebnisse sind durchaus bemerkenswert: Die Teilnehmenden verstanden die Geschichte unabhängig vom Medium ähnlich gut. Bei komplexeren Fragen jedoch benötigten die Tablet-Leser mehr Zeit, um die richtigen Antworten zu finden. Gleichzeitig zeigten ihre Gehirne stärkere Aktivität in jenen Bereichen, die für Sprachverarbeitung, räumliche Orientierung und die Verknüpfung von Informationen zuständig sind. Die Forscher schliessen daraus, dass Papier dem Gehirn zusätzliche Orientierungspunkte liefert. Man erinnert sich nicht nur an den Inhalt eines Textes, sondern auch daran, wo dieser stand: links oder rechts, vorne oder hinten im Buch, oben oder unten auf einer Seite. Das Gehirn erstellt gewissermassen eine räumliche Landkarte des Gelesenen, die später beim Erinnern und Verknüpfen von Informationen hilft.

Bevor man diese Befunde jedoch verallgemeinert, lohnt sich ein zweiter Blick auf den Untersuchungsgegenstand. Manga ist eine ausgesprochen spezifische Textsorte: visuell verdichtet, stark bildbasiert, mit einer eigenen Leserichtung und Erzählweise. Ob sich dieselben Effekte bei einem Roman, einem Fachbuch oder einem Zeitungsartikel in gleicher Form zeigen würden, bleibt offen. Die Studie liefert einen interessanten Baustein zum Verständnis des Lesens, aber keinen Beweis für eine generelle Überlegenheit des Papiers.

Das Problem mit dem Sammelbegriff „Bildschirm“

Noch grundsätzlicher stört mich allerdings etwas anderes. In der Berichterstattung wird aus „Tablet schlechter als Papier“ regelmässig „Bildschirme schlechter als Papier“. Das erscheint mir problematisch.

Ein Tablet verfügt über einen selbstleuchtenden Bildschirm, zeigt Farben, unterstützt Apps, Benachrichtigungen und Animationen. Es ist ein Multifunktionsgerät, auf dem Lesen nur eine Tätigkeit unter vielen ist. Ein E-Reader dagegen ähnelt einem Buch deutlich stärker. Seine E-Ink-Anzeige reflektiert Licht wie Papier, statt es auszustrahlen. Die Geräte sind meist monochrom, ablenkungsarm und werden fast ausschliesslich zum Lesen genutzt. Wer nach einer Stunde auf einem Tablet ermüdet, macht auf einem E-Reader nicht zwingend dieselbe Erfahrung.

Beide Geräte besitzen zwar einen Bildschirm, doch damit enden die Gemeinsamkeiten. Sie in denselben Topf zu werfen, ist ungefähr so erhellend wie die Aussage, Fahrräder und Motorräder seien dasselbe, weil beide zwei Räder haben.

Hinzu kommt, dass die möglichen Ursachen für Unterschiede beim Lesen auf verschiedenen Ebenen liegen können. Eine Rolle spielen die Bildschirmtechnologie, die Helligkeit, das Ablenkungspotenzial, die Art der Navigation durch den Text, die Haptik des Geräts oder die räumliche Orientierung innerhalb eines Dokuments. Wer all diese Faktoren unter dem Begriff „Bildschirmlesen“ zusammenfasst, kann am Ende kaum noch sagen, welcher davon tatsächlich wirksam ist.

Was wirklich für Papier spricht – und was offen bleibt

Interessanterweise geht es in der Studie gar nicht um Augenbelastung oder Bildschirmhelligkeit. Das zentrale Argument der Autoren ist räumlicher Natur. Ein physisches Buch verändert sich während des Lesens. Die gelesenen Seiten werden mehr, die ungelesenen weniger. Bestimmte Passagen erhalten eine physische Position innerhalb des Objekts. Man weiss oft noch, dass eine wichtige Stelle ungefähr im ersten Drittel des Buches auf einer linken Seite stand, ohne sich bewusst daran erinnern zu wollen.

Diese Orientierungshilfen fehlen beim Tablet weitgehend. Sie fehlen allerdings auch beim E-Reader. Wer die Erklärung der Forscher für überzeugend hält, müsste deshalb konsequenterweise davon ausgehen, dass auch E-Reader zumindest einen Teil dieses Nachteils ebenfalls zeigen. Die Frage ist lediglich, wie stark dieser Effekt tatsächlich ausfällt und ob andere Vorteile von E-Ink-Geräten ihn teilweise kompensieren.

Genau hier wird die Forschungslage erstaunlich dünn. Viele ältere Studien entstanden zu einer Zeit, als E-Reader noch kaum verbreitet waren. Untersucht wurden meist Computerbildschirme oder Tablets. Die Ergebnisse wurden später häufig auf digitales Lesen insgesamt übertragen. Ob diese Verallgemeinerung gerechtfertigt ist, wurde jedoch selten systematisch überprüft – zumindest so weit ich als Laie die Literatur überblicke. Der direkte Vergleich zwischen Papier und modernen E-Readern bleibt damit weitgehend ein Forschungsdesiderat.

Was wir eigentlich fragen sollten

Die neue Studie liefert interessante Hinweise darauf, wie unser Gehirn Geschichten verarbeitet. Sie stützt die Annahme, dass physische Bücher dem Denken räumliche Ankerpunkte geben, die bei komplexen Inhalten helfen können. Das allein macht die Arbeit lesenswert.

Was sie jedoch nicht zeigt, ist die Überlegenheit von Papier gegenüber jeder Form digitalen Lesens. Dafür untersucht sie die digitale Seite der Gleichung zu wenig differenziert.

Vielleicht sollten wir deshalb aufhören, Bildschirmlesen so zu behandeln, als wäre das eine einheitliche Tätigkeit. Zwischen Smartphone, Tablet, Computerbildschirm und E-Reader liegen erhebliche Unterschiede – technisch, ergonomisch und möglicherweise auch kognitiv. Die eigentliche Frage lautet daher nicht: Papier oder digital? Sondern: Welche Eigenschaften eines Mediums unterstützen konzentriertes Denken – und welche erschweren es?

Das erscheint mir nicht nur die interessantere Frage. Es ist vermutlich auch die wissenschaftlich präzisere. Ähnliches gilt übrigens auch für die Forschung zum Thema handschriftliches Schreiben auf Papier vs. auf „Bildschirmen“.

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Fussnoten [1] K. Umejima, Y. Sunada und K. L. Sakai, „Manga reading on paper vs. digital devices: Prospective effects on core and supportive integration processes in the brain“, PLOS ONE, 3. Juni 2026. [Online]. Verfügbar: https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0349778.

Bildquelle Harry Wilson Watrous (1857–1940): Just a Couple of Girls, Brooklyn Museum, New York, Public Domain.

Disclaimer Teile dieses Texts wurden mit Deepl Write (Korrektorat und Lektorat) überarbeitet. Für die Recherche in den erwähnten Werken/Quellen und in meinen Notizen wurde NotebookLM von Google verwendet.

Topic #Erwachsenenbildung | #ProductivityPorn

1. 17. Juni

Am Anfang möchte ich notieren, dass der Aufzug in unserem Hotel immer noch nicht funktioniert und dass wir bisher noch nichts Passendes gefunden haben. Ich sage meinem Mann, dass wir möglicherweise auch das Leben von Obdachlosen kennenlernen müssen. Das beunruhigt uns jedoch nicht allzu sehr, denn das Wetter wird immer wärmer. Heute habe ich noch zwei Kolleginnen kennengelernt – Konstanze und Franziska. Sie sind beide auch sehr freundlich und nett, wie Alle in dieser Organisation. Gemeinsam haben wir versucht herauszufinden, ob unsere Fahrten mit den öffis ohne Ticket legal sind. Dafür hat Franziska sogar bei drei verschiedenen Institutionen angerufen. Konstanze hat zusätzlich eine Behörde besucht. Die Antwort war überall ziemlich eindeutig: Wir haben keinen Anspruch auf irgendwelche Ermäßigungen. Das bedeutet, dass mein Mann und ich unsere Schwerbehindertenausweise (wieder ein schwieriges Wort) hier leider nicht nutzen können. Da habe ich mich gefragt, warum ich mich überhaupt um diesen europäischen Ausweis bemüht habe. Noch eine lustige Tatsache: Einmal wurde Franziska von einem Berater überhaupt unhöflich abgewiesen, und das Gespräch wurde einfach mitten im Satz beendet. Da dachte ich nur: „Ok, solche Antworten bekommt man also nicht nur in Litauen.“ Auf jeden Fall haben wir nun drei Möglichkeiten: das Risiko eingehen und ohne Ticket zu fahren, nur mit dem Auto zu fahren oder endlich uns Fahrkarten zu kaufen. Ich denke, dass wir darüber entscheiden werden, sobald wir ein ständiges Dach gefunden haben. Zurzeit planen wir, im Hotel am Flughafen zu wohnen. Von dort aus wäre die S-Bahn ohnehin keine große Hilfe, da auf dieser Strecke momentan gebaut wird. Heute habe ich außerdem noch mehr über die Mobilität in Berlin gelesen. Die Website „Berlin für Blinde“ enthält viele nützliche Informationen. Leider haben wir in Litauen nichts Ähnliches. Auf dieser Seite findet man nicht nur Beschreibungen der bekanntesten Sehenswürdigkeiten, sondern auch Wegbeschreibungen, Informationen über Kulturangebote, Gastronomie, Freizeitmöglichkeiten und vieles mehr. Was ich persönlich in Berlin immer besuchen muss, ist McDonald's! Bitte lacht nicht, aber das ist der einzige McDonald's, den ich kenne, der tatsächlich mehrere vegetarische Optionen anbietet. Heute habe ich mir diesen Wunsch endlich erfüllt und einen McVeg bestellt. Leider war er ziemlich traurig: zu wenig Soße, zu wenig Gemüse und irgendwie überhaupt nicht gelungen. Also hat sich meine große Vorfreude nicht wirklich gelohnt. Außerdem haben wir heute noch ein weiteres Hotel besichtigt, das an einem sehr guten Standort liegt. Auf die Antwort bezüglich einer längeren Unterkunft müssen wir allerdings noch warten. Also: viel warten, viel lesen und lernen, viel deutsche Sprache hören und noch viele Treppen übergehen. Darum ging es an diesem Tag.