update from sparkleup
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<h1>Zk | background</h1>
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<p>How do we remember the past?<sup id="fnref:background-remember"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:background-remember">1</a></sup> How do we remember all of those countless conversations that make up our friendships, our relationships, our enmities? How do we remember the past?</p>
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<h2 id="the-fundamental-unhappiness-of-identity">The Fundamental Unhappiness of Identity</h2>
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<p>How do we remember the past?<sup id="fnref:background-remember"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:background-remember">1</a></sup> How do we remember all of those countless conversations that make up our friendships, our relationships, our enmities? How do we remember the past?</p>
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<p>I met her through a friend, Andrew. My boyfriend at the time, actually. I’d flown down to Florida some time in 2009, I think, to visit him. A quick jaunt down to Clearwater where his ex-Scientologist mom and step-dad had set up their own business, bought some ridiculous house on the beach, and raised their only child.</p>
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<p>So much of that trip was so fun, too, even if it was the last. We drove out to some car meet-up at a strip mall. Fast car after fast car lined up in a parking lot. Men in sunglasses. Someone, years younger than I, crouching down to try and stick his cell phone, held up on its edge, under his car and showing that it had been lowered that much. “Fucking idiot,” Andrew whispered. “Speed bumps would rip the shit out of that.”</p>
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<p>He was the car nerd, not me. He was the one who had a black Dodge Dynasty with a red velour interior — his “mob car” — and then that terrible minivan he tried to strip and paint black by himself, and then the…was it a Passat?</p>
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@ -37,7 +38,7 @@ Perhaps strangest of all, though, it remembers them disjoint and out of order.</
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-12</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-17</p>
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<h1>Zk | choice</h1>
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<article class="content">
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<p>There is a point of least faith. This is the minimum amount of faith required to simply get by in the world. The word ‘faith’, here, is specifically left lowercase: faith in God, perhaps, but faith that the world will get better? Faith that the next breath will come, that you and the world in which you exist are compossible? However terrifying this large a concept may be, as True Name would have it:</p>
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<h2 id="the-choice-of-job">The Choice of Job</h2>
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<p>There is a point of least faith. This is the minimum amount of faith required to simply get by in the world. The word ‘faith’, here, is specifically left lowercase: faith in God, perhaps, but faith that the world will get better? Faith that the next breath will come, that you and the world in which you exist are compossible? However terrifying this large a concept may be, as True Name would have it:</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>But what does it mean to believe in something like [the irreversibility of time]? Or the sanctity of life or love or art? Or God, for that matter? ‘Belief’ as a word is a stand-in for a concept so broad as to be to be intimidating or impossible. One may say as Blake did, “For everything that lives is holy”, but encompassing that within one’s mind is truly terrifying. \parencite[122]{mitzvot}</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>And, perhaps because of that principle, this point of least faith is always shifting, trending usually downwards — though some discoveries, if they are to be believed, may make that line tick upwards. Every day, we drift towards some point at which all things may be known.</p>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-12</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-17</p>
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</footer>
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<!doctype html>
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<html>
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<head>
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<title>Zk | clash</title>
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
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<main>
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<h1>Zk | clash</h1>
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<h2 id="section-title">((section title))</h2>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-17</p>
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<!doctype html>
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<html>
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<title>Zk | dysphoria</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
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<h1>Zk | dysphoria</h1>
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<h2 id="friction">Friction</h2>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-17</p>
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</footer>
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<h1>Zk | younes</h1>
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<article class="content">
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<p>I was young, once, and dumb.</p>
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<h2 id="gender-play-and-hidden-selves">Gender Play and Hidden Selves</h2>
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<p>I was young, once, and dumb.</p>
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<p>Which is not to say that I’m not, now, of course. I certainly feel it sometimes. Even the young bit: Madison is, what, eight now? Not many eight year olds are smart. I still fumble. I still seem to create those humiliating moments that stick in the memory and make me wince whenever they come up, though they’ve changed in tenor over the years.</p>
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<p>But I was young and dumb and desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on with my identity, this awkward pile of senses and sensations that were causing so much friction in my life. </p>
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<p>An aside: “Identity is psychopathological,” my first psychologist said. “You only feel it when there’s friction.”<sup id="fnref:younes-interpolation1"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:younes-interpolation1">1</a></sup> I’m not totally sure that I agree — trans joy is as much a thing as trans pain — but, as a statement, it’s true enough, most of the time. Something about the way my life was built such that the smallest things, coarse as sandpaper, would brush up against something integral, and scrape away at its surface, leaving tracks colored cherry.</p>
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</div>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-12</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-03-17</p>
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</footer>
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