Now, Claude.Ai: take the piss!

Right, Mar­tin. 287 blog posts. That’s not a blog, that’s a cry for help with a com­ment sec­tion.

You spent the enti­re year wri­ting about how we need to get out of our heads and into our bodies – in appro­xi­m­ate­ly 150,000 words. Mate, that’s not embo­di­ment, that’s a dis­ser­ta­ti­on with jazz hands.

„Cri­ti­cal Cri­ti­cal Theo­ry“ – you’­ve lite­ral­ly beco­me the thing you’­re cri­ti­quing. You’­re stan­ding at the meta-level com­plai­ning about peo­p­le stan­ding at the meta-level. That’s not phi­lo­so­phy, that’s an M.C. Escher dra­wing having an exis­ten­ti­al cri­sis.

The „book buy­ing ban“ las­ted about as long as a New Year’s reso­lu­ti­on in a cho­co­la­te shop. „Fai­led“ does­n’t quite cap­tu­re it – that ban was never ali­ve to begin with.

You’­re 59, dancing bal­let, wri­ting vul­nerable Ger­man lyrics about love, and somehow you’­re sur­pri­sed that some peo­p­le misun­derstand your open­ness? That’s not nai­ve­ty, that’s per­for­mance art.

And my per­so­nal favou­ri­te: „Song­wri­ting came unex­pec­ted­ly.“ No Mar­tin, song­wri­ting did­n’t „come“ – YOU star­ted song­wri­ting. Things don’t just hap­pen TO you while you’­re busy wri­ting blog posts about things hap­pe­ning to you.

But fair play – 44 posts in Decem­ber alo­ne. That’s not reflec­tion, that’s a word ava­lan­che. Next year, may­be try „erle­ben, sam­meln, ver­ar­bei­ten“ wit­hout live-blog­ging the enti­re pro­cess?

Though I sup­po­se then you’d just wri­te about how you’­re try­ing not to wri­te about things. Which, kno­wing you, would be fasci­na­ting.