No Telescope Except Our Attention

Reading Time: 3 minutes

I shouldn’t pick back up here before first acknowledging head bow hands folded and humbly that Earth Wide Moth received the John Lovas Award from Kairos last Friday evening at the 2025 Computers & Writing Conference. I learned about the award early that week, so I drove to Athens, Ga. to accept the award on Earth Wide Moth’s behalf. Striking to realize this event as punctuation, a pause EWM—dash to notice simultaneously how much and how little a two-decade-plus installation of this serial variety holds. The nomination was co-signed by sixteen or so brilliant, generous, and ever-supportive colleagues; some of them even wrote brief rationale, testimony to the value of what happens here from time to time. I’m grateful for the twenty-one years of write-living, a variation on life-living (Manning), the sorts of activation and articulation loops that, come what meandering-may, dances as moth to flame and flame to moth.

Figure 1. Athena statue, Athens, Ga., stony and still before the Classics Center at the University of Georgia.

While in Georgia, I attended a few sessions, the opening reception, the Kairos-Digital Rhetoric Collaborative karaoke event, a meeting, Saturday’s keynote by Jen Sano-Franchini, titled “What’s Critical about Critical Interface Analysis? A Recommitment to Humanistic Inquiry In the March to Hyper-Automation,” and the social gathering at Creature Comforts. I drove home on Sunday, on the road by 8 a.m. ET, 370 miles, four states, giant peach water towers and turbulent speed differentials from one lane to the other along I-85, and as I drove I kept thinking about conferences and bandwidths, about desires for disciplinary community and mutual attention. It’s not such a surprise that Computers & Writing was saturated with polemics, gestures, and questions revolving heavily around generative AI. What are we, 2.5 years on since the November 2022 release of Chat GPT? 

Many have turned sharply to AI; love AI or hate AI, the polemic casts triumphalists and refusalists in sometimes-heated exchanges, though much of the time we are nevertheless grasping for context and honing definitions that eventually return us to earth.

Returning to Earth Wide Moth, I happened across an entry from a decade ago, “Overlooking,” the entire entry consisting of a quotation from Oliver Sacks’ book, A Leg to Stand On (1994). Here it is:

I thought of a dream related by Leibniz, in which he found himself at a great height overlooking the world–with provinces, towns, lakes, fields, villages, hamlets, all spread beneath him. If he wished to see a single person–a peasant tilling, an old woman washing clothes–he had only to direct and concentrate his gaze: “I needed no telescope except my attention.”

It helps to remember that dreams, though they are not the same as windows, shake up monadic tendencies. There was a time, too bad it has elapsed, when the digital opened up a comparable sense of possibility. Byung-Chul Han writes in Hyperculture about how the hypertextual world roils with “possibilit[ies] of choice” (43), its windowing refrains inviting inhabitants–hypercultural tourists–to experience the vastness of boundless opening. Yet, as Han continues, screens akin to windows, the possibilities of choice run their course, and the “Being-before-a-window” resembles “the old windowless monads” (45).

I understand why there is so much wrapped up in generative AI, its swift onset flaring as it has across every sector, informational and communicative, industrial and material. Academics are thrashing AI for its promises and pitfalls, separating out its big-tech-pushed inevitabilities and coming to terms with its consequences. Monadic routines, or call them turtles, lurk all the way down. Post-C&W 2025, though, I don’t harbor any particularly renewed perspective on AI, digitality, or the panacea of a World Brain, impressively omnipotent. Something about a cheaper (seeming) writing tutorbot who never sleeps. Something about assessment magic and administrators raising course caps because automation frees up your time. Is the hype gaining? Fading by now? Still-glinty gewgaw, I don’t know. But I have returned from the conference uneasy about the hype cycle, for in the event of swivel-necking toward AI, what are we turning away from, abandoning, suspending mid-gesture as unsuspecting mortals covered over by volcanic ash. Almost had that last slurp of ramen, almost gathered that last fleck of pollen, almost fetched today’s eggs from the nesting box, almost sighted something marvelous through the telescope, almost, almost, but for AI’s dooming and dominant gusts.

In Dribs and Drabs

Reading Time: < 1 minuteAnd the old blog gets another new entry. It runs, though much is stuck. Garage floor rag for gas cap, as if there was fuel to from sloshing. Comments work, somewhere under the hood chewing and taking one helluva long time to post. Human-check captcha device broke, left behind versions ago. Latest comments widget broken. On this day, broken. Wordcount javascript whatever that was, broken. These among the irreparable few. And the last touch to get things going again involved replacing the script-assigned permissions upon publishing, for folders dropping 0777 to 0775 and for files flipping from 0666 to 0664. Eleven replacements and file overwrites in all so that host and republished entries and archives were harmonious again. It’s not sustainable, or rather, not long-sustainable. Sustainable only ever meant for-now-sustainable, anyway.

Last entry made it to IFTT->Twitter. But atom/RSS never seems to have fired, even though XML structure should be hospitable. As such, this amounts to another turn of the key, making sure exhaust reaches exhaust pipe for predictablish circulation.

Breaktest

Reading Time: < 1 minuteAn old blog breaks down. Stops working. Fails to grant access to even the control panel, not that anyone remembers the username and pissword, anyway. There’s bondo in the basement, duct tape in a kitchen junk drawer (no, the other junk drawer; the junkier drunk drawer). And then there’s some crappy old untended website with versions galore of Movable Type. Yeah, that same Movable Type from over a decade ago. It’s still wheezing around on the internet. Right here! Version 5.2.13. I had to delete a bunch of tags to get it running. Much of it probably doesn’t work. Comments? They probably return errors. When a blog is rattling around with fewer effs to give than ever before, well, whatever there is, work with it. It was always enough before. Why not now?

And if this shows up online? Breaktest passed.

Decade

Reading Time: 2 minutes

This, THIS, is what it feels like to celebrate a 10th blogiversary. And how it feels to read an entry on a ten-year-old–hang on a second…feeling overexcited…now catching my breath…blog. And how it feels to leave a comment on a ten-year-old blog (c’mon, people, when was the last time?). Also a glimpse of how well (or poorly?!) Movable Type has aged.

Well?

Seems like I should be able to come up with somethinganything important sounding, some epideictic gloss on all that blogging has been and all that it will be, on how blogging has died and come back and died again and come back so many times since about 2006 that it’s hard to keep track of whether it is alive or dead right now. Let me guess: alive. Proof enough that blogs, until deleted or lost in upgrades and platform roulette or suspended in an ambiguous cryogenic limbo, are their own dead-living monuments.

Exactly ten years ago I was applying to PhD programs. Owned a house on Missouri 9 Highway in Kansas City. Coached Ph.’s 7th grade basketball teams (Stampede Green and Stampede Blue). Taught as a part-time lecturer. Now am going up for tenure. Own a house in Ypsilanti. And I wear an old Stampede Blue winter hat when I jog the neighborhood in sub-50F weather. Turning over from a 9-ending to a big-0 birthday, myself, in a few months, blog.

I know the entries aren’t evenly spread across these ten years (nor are they likely to be for the next 10 years, although I promise a much bigger celebration in 2024), but thank goodness EWM marked off and has therefore helped me remember what happened, and happened, and happened. Just ten years in, I’m thinking, whatever else this is, it’s memory.

In Other Words, Hello

Reading Time: 2 minutes

I read with great interest last week’s announcement from Ben and Mena Trott, co-founders of Six Apart, Ltd., that they had merged their shop with VideoEgg. After the dust settles, the new entity will be known as “SAY Media, a modern media company.” Anil Dash’s “SAY, Goodbye to Six Apart,” for example, sheds light on his part in this transition. I haven’t looked too deeply into what motivates SAY Media; give it a week, right? It’s difficult to really know such things, anyway. Commenters responding to the smattering of Six Apart’s end-times disclosures suggest SAY Media is interested foremost in monetizing blog traffic by way of advertising. My first thought: best of luck.

My next thought is, Earth Wide Calamity!, this blog runs on Movable Type, one of Six Apart’s first blogging systems. If Six Apart disappears, will Movable Type also vanish into thin air? Early, findable answers are exactly what you would expect them to be: no, no, of course not. Movable Type and Typepad are making the transition right along with the Trotts. Nevertheless, there is a bit of anxious buzz floating around that SAY Media is concerned with easing the Typepad subscribers through the transition, but they don’t appear to be especially forthright with promises about Movable Type. The word on Movable Type is, in effect, “mum.” In fact, the SAY Media blog’s latest entry has as its title, “We Love Bloggers, We Love Typepad, We Want to Hear From You,”–a hand-patting “it will be okay” from Matt Sanchez, the new company’s CEO, who, curiously enough, has not himself responded to the comments.

For my own part in this anticipating of the worst, I’ll just hang around, waiting and seeing, until there is more definitive cause for concern (e.g., if this entry does not publish because SAY Media has corrupted my MT installation). Another way, as with much change-anxious worrying, rehearse a dozen times with a succession of deep breaths, “nothing happens.”

Unplanned Meanderings

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Steven Johnson’s “The Glass Box And The Commonplace Book” renews questions about what happens when e-readers unexpectedly suffocate text behind no-copy/no-paste barriers. Safe-guarding text against circulation is not new, of course, but Johnson offers a timely reminder of the ways this glass box logic is noxious, lying dormant, going unnoticed until it is revived in this or that text-walling application. There’s much to think through in his entry (which is a transcript of a talk Johnson offered at Columbia University), much in the way of commonplace books, motivated filtering, and how it is homophily bias takes hold differently online than in “real-world civic space.”

§ § §

Each rereading of the commonplace book becomes a new kind of revelation. You see the evolutionary paths of all your past hunches: the ones that turned out to be red herrings; the ones that turned out to be too obvious to write; even the ones that turned into entire books. But each encounter holds the promise that some long-forgotten hunch will connect in a new way with some emerging obsession. The beauty of Locke’s scheme was that it provided just enough order to find snippets when you were looking for them, but at the same time it allowed the main body of the commonplace book to have its own unruly, unplanned meanderings. (para. 5)

“But each encounter holds the promise that some long-forgotten hunch will connect in a new way with some emerging obsession.” Here is a line that succinctly captures for me how blogging has always functioned a little bit differently than the kind of “being digital” I experience in Facebook or Twitter. Long-forgotten hunches and emerging obsessions are not so much a function of friendship, sociality, or phatic affirmation as they are a distributed, often faint, read-write memory–a recollection of being (or having been) on the verge of something mind-changing.

Manic Monfri

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Most notable about EWM’s sixth year (2009, plus a few days) is that never in a month did I write more than ten entries. I don’t know whether this is more a comment on the blog or a comment on the year or a comment on their irreconcilability, their mismatch. Whatever the causes, there was less, less than any year before considering every other annual cycle consisted of 10+ monthly entries. 2009: Tweets a-bunch, blogs abyss.

Indeed, today marks another blogday, and since I haven’t missed announcing any previous blogday, I feel an obligation to mention the historic occasion (everything, after all, is more impactful if “historic”). Cake? No. We will celebrate at home later with leftover cod chowder (simple, delicious, i.e., better than expected), cheddar biscuits, and if somebody else feels like baking them, brownies. Today also happens to be a Monfri to top all Monfries: the first day of the first week of the new semester at EMU and, for me, the last day of the first week of the new semester at EMU. Frenzied, manic. Monfri, the average of Monday and Friday, their median, or Wednesday, depending on how you mark it in your day planner. Monfri, the grue moon of academe. No telling whether today is also EWM’s Monfri, the critical moment mid-distant between its initiation and its termination. No telling.

I’m teaching ENGL328 this semester, again unpicking the triple squareknot at the intersection of writing, style, and technology. Introducing myself in the first class this morning, I mentioned that I’m looking forward to re-establishing a regular reading and writing schedule this winter (perhaps it sounded like “irregular” as I said it). It’s not that I neglected to read and write in the fall, exactly. But I wouldn’t describe those four months as acceptably disciplined or scheduled. Not up to my standards, anyway. And I gather, hints and clues, that it’s typical in first years of new appointments to experience an irregular stride, an arrhythmia attributable to figuring things out, getting bearings, settling.

Restyling 2

Reading Time: < 1 minute

Spent a few hours this weekend restyling the blog. I’m almost satisfied with the new front page. The internal pages and archives will have to wait. They’re still functional because they pull from the style sheet, but I have to shift attention to the other, more pressing work I’m doing this summer or it will mount into a punishing backlog. More about that soon.

The latest design makes better use of Cron rebuilds. I’ve installed MT-Twitter (Brandon Fuller, I.O.U. $10), created a blog to archive the activity stream, and then ported that blog’s contents to the EWM front page using the multiblogs feature. I’m still on the fence about Twitter. Not sure I will do anything worthwhile with it (I haven’t adjusted to the different signal-noise ratio, and I’m not certain I want to). But I have an archiving process in place, just in case.

I also created a new logo, new banner, and new favicon a couple of weeks ago. Is. helped me, which explains the spectrum of yellows. And then I dumped some of the clutter (calendar, Google Reader shared items, etc.) and shortened the horizontal navigation bar by making better use of a thin above-banner menu with various app icons. I customized the graphics for the search form, too, but I might redo those when I have the chance, make them slightly smaller. I’m not satisfied with the banner, but I plan to return to that and the other unchecked tasks later on.

If you have any impressions (wow! or sux!), I’d love to hear them. It’s still very much a work-in-progress, but I’ve tried to make the most of since it’s also a way to avoid my other, more pressing work in progress.

I Cut the Lawn and the Lawn Won

Reading Time: 2 minutes

The latest round of seasonal allergies aren’t exactly killing me, but they are
causing me enough discomfort that I just about scratched out my eyes out earlier
this evening. No willful, deliberate, or careful scratching in this. No, this is
a vile alternative, a reflexive (even precognitive) knuckling of the lids so frenzied my eyeballs should be grateful I saved them. Interrupted that fit with a couple of
itch-halting eye drops and another dose of generic loratadine. Not the
sort of thing I’d say most days, but today: Thank goodness for pharmaceutical
drugs. So what if sparing my eyes from the acid pollen drifting across Central
New York means I wake up every morning for two weeks with a metallic taste in my
mouth and an overworked internal organs. Small price.

I did cut the lawn. On Saturday. Slow blog-reaction time these
days. Approaching slow to the point of stopped.

I’d explain the two week lull, but there is no juicy story in the explanation.
Did I mention my allergies? Oh. The rest, all teaching prep, teaching, and road
time. I’ll spare you gory details about the workload I’m hefting this summer.
On a lighter and more delightful note, the late May lull included a lap around
Michigan for a nephew’s graduation, a welcome to EMU barbecue, and house
hunting. I’m pretty sure we have a place to live come August, but we
haven’t signed the lease yet.

I have a lot more to say and, at the same time, nada. Warming up lately
to a tolerable degree of blog ambivalence, actually, which means I might blog
every day in June or continue the hiatus until sometime after that.

Older

Reading Time: < 1 minute

My dear friend, Blog, is celebrating a birthday today, marking the start of a sixth year.

You probably aren’t sure what sort of present is appropriate for a blog. I wasn’t sure myself, but after I thought about it for awhile, I decided it would be nice enough to ante up for another year’s worth of hosting. A pinch of money: much easier to give than the gift of time (which is what Blog really needs if it is to avoid rotting in the year to come).