July 1, 2017 by Dr. Geyser
Greetings, friends! I wanted to take a brief opportunity prior to the celebration of the 241st anniversary of our All-American independence to speak to you regarding the life and death of gods. What I have realized over the last several years is that certain types of media by which I have been striving, and often languishing, to communicate with you all were ineffective at communicating that which I desired, and of which I now have much greater need that it be communicated without the wayward humor of this raunchy divinity. It is not the attentionspan of the user that is at issue, but rather the refresh rate of the computer screen, which entrains an unnatural rhythm upon the brain of the user by means of the retina and optic nerve. The eyes do not permit the direct perception of this refresh rate because it is throught the eyes that the mind is so entrained. The most difficult thing to appreciate is the fact that, if caution is not taken to print first what one means to publish, that the content of one’s writing never escapes the depreciating effect of the digital medium. Since it has been my pleasure to communicate in words, and these are generally speaking considered static and immutable once they have been put down in writing, the effect upon my work has been especially evident to me. Moreover, as I developed a more subtle taste in what it was that I aimed to communicate, I began to notice the effects of the screen on my capacity to arrange my t houghts and appreciate their significance. I paled before the screen, and grew sick. The screen exercised a tyranny over my mind, and so I turned to writing in journals thoughts which are in need of a printer, a publisher, and above all, of assistants. For I have no interest in turning my wife into a transcriptionist, though I have tried to do this several times. She has enough on her plate as it is, and cannot readily tolerate labors dominated by the digital mixing of 1s and 0s.
Likewise, typing is not writing. The latter involves sword and shield, the former fells like a decortication. If I am reluctant to set down in writing what it is I mean to say, it is a consequence of what despair arises from the knowledge that no one can read my handwriting, because no one is willing to do this anymore. I have, however, faithfully committed myself to improving, or rather, maturing, perfecting and putting to use, my handwriting so that it may be legible to those who, at present, assert a tyranny over my life and preoccupation, being unable to appreciate the work I have done, as a consequence of a larger and wider world which has only room to receive the typed form. Books proliferate, wisdom dies, and I retreat into sullenness without solitude. This cannot be helped without, on the one hand, someone who is willing to provide the means of transcription and, on the other hand, an acknowledgement from those who must in the end be interested in their own success, that a failure to account for the autonomy of the writer’s hand will be the death of the author, and the incompletion of his work. Because the nature of this work is, it would appear, that of a philosophical physician, which is to say, of one who has added back to the body its speech, its writing, its arts and letters, not to speak of its language and its name, whatever I say, whatever name I take, becomes a part of myself and my history. In short, though gods live on forever, they are not meant for constant consumption, but rather they penetrate and inspire, and then they are departed.
Yesterday, in a moment of despair, I told my wife, Queen among the gods, that I was going away, that this going away would appear to be a staying-here, but that the spirit has changed, and will continue to change, for life is becoming, and I, my friends, am immortal. I will keep my word, even if it means keeping it to myself. Here is my shrine. May you all be touched by my relics, and perish for want of my passionate humors. The afterlife of DoctorGeyser has now begun.