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Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Standing at the corner


I wonder, looking at me:

Do they expect I shall be

their image fixed of this street?

Such to minds privy discreet?


It can be other surmise. 

Thus alone, I'm no way wise,

able to guess or to know

the looks that goad us to glow.


I wait, wandering in lies:

What's in the light or their eyes,

that wordless passing must sate?


Stay here and wait for my mate.


Yet of s/he or me inside 

would out but never betide?

Friday, May 30, 2025

A constellation of sorts

When in Australia earlier this year, I devoted local library time to reading Paradise Lost by John Milton. I almost made it to the final book (aka chapter) by the time I returned home in February, and admit now I have but one book to go.

Upon my return, two of my online English conversation partners--students working on language proficiency through conversation, as I try to extend and expand their knowledge, skills, etc.: They wanted to discuss religion and the Bible, and through that gain greater range of expression, fluency in speaking and better language comprehension. So be it, although one student needed re-direction, having thought  conversation was (my) conversion.

Apropos of the above and the fact each student wanted to discuss the book of Genesis first, I went to King James and began reading. (Students give earnest teachers homework.) The reading was enlightening. I again recalled that the word of God, a book of books, required endless effort by scholars and in my case Catholic sermonizers to understand, that is interpret, what he or He "wrote." Now I get it, the it being the necessity to discern meanings through tireless effort and acquired expertise to arrive at what that sacred text proffers.

Milton does the best God's-word rendition of Genesis, and I will read and re-read Paradise Lost and more from his opus. Us mortals can never fully understand and appreciate what he, a blind genius, accomplished, to wit: A masterful, compelling poetic and learned interpretation, that is re-telling, of the  Genesis story. Paradise Lost cannot be surpassed in my view, so worth more time to savor and learn and appreciate as much as I can.

As for King James, the first lines of Genesis already are up for alternative readings. Then we have God creating man and the injunction to multiply and rule over beasts and bower. Woman comes off, as in Milton's take, not very well or good. Such a sorry history and legacy and burden for our better halves. Then after creating man, woman and families, He, God according the the narrator, comes around to Adam then Eve and the (very) first commandment--not to know good from evil. If you violate this injunction, you (Adam) and your descendants are condemned to death (Milton's gloss on death is helpful here). 

What? All was blissful ignorance and then not so because of particular knowledge? and for this one transgression, to be more fully coincident with the image of God, as He was reported to have made us, we must suffer in this imperfect world? or eternally somewhere warmer, forever and ever?

Why if the good book is God's word, and concerning the Bible my students say every word is His and true, did He write such that there are questions, ambiguities, cruelties, childish admonitions, contradictions, threats, unreasonable dictates, unrealistic or ill advised behavior toward hostile others,  etc. Surely He could have done better, which seems to prove these days that He is a he and not She.

The enterprise of mandatory and endless interpretation of the book-of-books looks more like a hodgepodge of old cultural artifacts cobbled together to keep us busy . . . differing in view among one another and worse. And this inevitable conclusion from the very first sentences of the sacred book.

So. Nice story, or stories, that can be better told in more gifted hands I believe.


Now about those other sacred texts. . . . Let's see, which one?

No. Here's a better idea. I'll continue with Milton and at the same time regularly pay obeisance to Shakespeare. Clearer writing, richer descriptions and characterization, better, more engaging stories all promising less ambiguous understanding of the message(s) and me and my provincial corner of this now (always was) imperfect paradise.

__________

* Dedicated to friend and teacher, Dr. Michael Russo. May we meet again to share insights and discern truths in a world better suited to us. "In light of the above, I believe your dear S. fits as one of the few almost fathomable interpreters of God's word, but can we read and understand what S. wrote?" You may be the only one to make that claim that yes. . . .


Saturday, April 12, 2025

Emerging, dark night...

[No. It took me another 20 years, but that's another story which will never be told, at least not here.

Scanned and OCR rendered from an end-of-year communication to family and friends, probably 1993 or '04. 

Who was I then? the same today? 

Tamper not, again, with history. 

And excuse my not cleaning up what the software and scanning didn't get exactly. But you'll get the idea.]

For my I part cannot end the year without writing . . . and sharing a few thoughts with you, one OF a SMali Number OF very Special: people. 

This year has been one of turmoil with moments of relative calm, and some healing. And I have shared parts or all of me with you under what have been for me very special and extraordinary circumstances. Many have seen how very human and frail I am. Others have witnessed glimpses of what I can be like in happier times. A few have looked into my unconscious and have not laughed. A couple I have let touch my soul. Some just touched it anyway--permission I granted without your asking. And I am glad for this, all of this. 

I am not who I was nor am I who I will be. I am not where I was, nor will I be here for very long. I appreciate mental, emotional, and physical health much more than I ever did. I delicately balance myself every day on an edge between correspondent sanity and the deepest abyss, the abyss I thought in former times was reserved for others. 

I appreciate and am coming to acknowledge the light that draws me to my true self. Some have said I have touched them in some way. For this I am glad too. It has been my mission to live again, and the way of that mission has been love which I have tried to express, however awkwardly. Some have been startled by my directness. "I love you" is not casual talk, and you did not take it casually, I know. But the light heals, even if we are apart. The light is still there for us, one more chance. 

I have shed tears and been mortally wounded by the pain I have witnessed that others bear. This has not served me as well as it should since the counterbalance has been missing in my life, and I must admit is still missing. 

I have taken refuge in my studies, my own company, my monastic ways. The death to rebirth process has not seen itself through to fulfillment. Re-birthing is hard stuff, particularly for mythical types such as I find that Iam. Harder than anything I have ever done or contemplated. And the pain has been hell itself. I wish no one--not anyone--such pain as I have experienced, as I have caused. 

I pray that what I call the cosmos embrace all of us. I can no longer read newspapers or watch TV. The suffering and ignorance and lack of compassion are so difficult to view, to know about. I have used the word excruciating, and have come to a personal conclusion that crucifixions are salvation if there is but faith and hope. Would that salvation could be without such trials. They are sufferable and transcendent as we allow ourselves to be embraced by others, by faith and hope. We each have our own ghosts and demons, our own challenges, our own sadnesses which defy comparison--this I believe. May I gather myself to move better and beyond mine. I will, as best I can. Herein is my forgiveness of others. I am coming to forgive myself and feel the embracing. 

St. Francis has been guiding me. I have not given up on him. I trust he will not give up on me. Perhaps like Francis, I have had altered states of consciousness, and they have led me to slow shifts in perception and belief. The consequences of this I already feel. But I do not care that I do not care about what my culture has presented as value. I admit I am finding difficulty with the "fit." I am not closed to all the possibilities, nor do I aspire to be closed. But I know what I know, even though I cannot prove or explain. I find myself on the outside of the worldly flow, but my perspective says that only some things matter. And non-things matter the most. 

Through all of this and more, you have been there, or you were there at an important moment. I have not forgotten. I am thankful. And I love you for the help you have given me. May I be there at some moment or moments when you have as great a need as I for comfort, understanding, and love. 1994 is another year, but today will never come again. I am sorry for the lost days. But in view of this day and these moments, I treasure in just thinking about you. 

I trust this letter finds you well and at peace with infinite moments of joy that embrace you, and that you can embrace.


Thirty +/- years ago

[I don't know how this document survived till today, written on what was then called Czech recycled paper, something like newspaper paper, then and now a kind of beige color. So I scanned it and put it through an OCR engine. Here is the result of three pages, untouched--as they were and are with and without OCR errors/omissions. Don't change history.

I wrote it I remember to be news from the front, so to speak, for family and friends I left in the US in 1994 and before. This letter of sorts dates from then, the fall of '94 or sometime in '95.

Who was I then? the same person as now?]

10 years after arrival in CZ

p. 1

 And of course, there's gossip, which is by definition laced with uncertainty. 

| teach two classes which | share with another teacher. He is Rick to me, Mr. Richard Myers to his students. He teaches American English, like it or lump it. And he has told several students to lump it. Particularly the one who continues to argue with him about the fine points of grammar and the preferred ways to say things in British English, with a British accent. In fact, Frank, that is the student, has asked me to teach him British pronunciation. Frank is an elitist and condescending. We regularly speculate whether he is this way when he speaks Czech. There's no way we can really tell. Asking his classmates has not seemed like a good idea. : 

Rick has a plane ticket for the 17th of this month back to the US. He threatens to use it. For a well traveled and experienced teacher of English, he is somewhat stubborn on some points. Points of English usage and grammar, of course. Another point is his cat. He travels around the world with this thing; it is first in his life. 

Rick talks in the hallway until late into the evenings, with anyone who happens by. He speaks German with the German teachers, English with the English teachers, and with lots of affection to his cat which he allows out in the halls about ten or ten thirty. Rick plans his lessons for the next day after the socializing and the cat's walkabout. He finally goes to bed about two or three in the mornina.

Rick eats out everyday, once a day. He is very thin. He doesn't like to use the community kitchen because he would have to share pots, pans, plates, and utensils. So he buys very little food that he keeps in his room. McDonald's likes him very much. 

Conrad, the person who was influential in getting me here to teach, is deathly afraid of dogs. Some childhood experience or other. The guard dogs downstairs are particularly frightening, and Conrad has not been happy about their presence, their barking, their walking the halls at night in the dark without muzzles or leashes. | am not very fond of this situation either. Last week's rumor was that Conrad went to the hospital for a problem which sounded like either some terminal instability or wounds from a fight. He and one of the guard dogs had had it out. Conrad had had it. He attacked the dog! | am happy to say Conrad is back at work and looks and sounds just fine. 

We have foreign English teachers in two separate faculties—one faculty is business and economics and the other is a department of education. Pedagogy they call it. The teachers in these departments don't associate with each other. They don't even know each other! Those in the business and econ faculty admit they need help with teaching methodology. That is what the other faculty is doing, teaching teaching methodology. | keep asking silly questions like, why don't we have a workshop or seminar with “them"? 

The head of the department (our employer) asked about what we taught during October. Again, | felt like the lone ranger. Seemed like a reasonable question from employer to employee. What have you been doing? My colleagues found the request outrageous. They proceeded to make their responses as passively and un-passively aggressive as possible. Sara has threatened to stop teaching if anyone comes into her classroom to observe. Tim has written a memo to the head of the department with the idea that she will have to use an English dictionary to find out what he has said. She is Czech and English is a second or third language for her. 

| teach one student English and he tries to teach me survival Czech. He's getting the better deal. But he, Jan, is curious. He proudly announced the other day that his surname meant tit in English. This had to be sorted out straight away, and | think | did a pretty tactful job of it. Titmouse is a bird found in G.B. | remembered that. Clive, a fellow teacher and from England says they have blue tits, yellow tits, and what not in G.B. | gave Jan the proper cultural tips {with a p) for boasting in the U.S. about what his name means in the vernacular. 

He wears the same clothes each time | see him. Top button of his nicely pressed shirt buttoned. He writes in miniscule fashion from the top edge of the page to the bottom

p. 2
edge, and from the left edge to the right edge. | don't know how he reads it. He is an engineering student and might fit some stereotype we would have in the U.S. Listens to music. Likes to draw. And asks me questions about the tiniest details and the tiniest words. He's a very good student, he's nice, he speaks slowly and correctly without stress, intonation, or rhythm. He speaks with a bilingual dictionary in his hand and looks up the precise word he needs, one per sentence, usually without breaking monotone. He is quite fluent with this method. Perhaps he has had lots of practice. Learning the meanings of naughty words 
brings smiles but no embarrassment to his face. 
Czech students generally are very interested in slang ond off-color words and expressions. | may be reaching but many seem repressed and are now finding freedom of expression with the funny (odd) foreign teachers. They apparently look for an opportunity to shock you with their knowledge of four-letter words, which they mumble in class just loud enough for their classmates and the teacher to hear. Or maybe they're just goofing off. 

One young teacher from Minnesota is talented and works hard. He is finding teaching English challenging, as am |. He has a girlfriend back home and will return to her at the end of the year. But he has noted how ail the girls in his classes--they are not much younger than he is--are not very pretty. It would be nice for him to have some nice-looking female students, | think. He thinks so too. After all, he is liked, relates well to his students, perhaps because of his age. Jonathan, this young teacher, has seen Jitka (the J is like a Y and the stress is on ka--sort of draw it out like kahhhh) and asks about her. She is a striking beauty, and one of my students (see below). To me, | don't know, it all seems like a cosmic joke. | have many attractive young students, and | am very much older than the students and my fellow English teachers.
 
Excuses are amusing. Students come to class. An excuse. Students don't come to class. An excuse. Students leave early. Another excuse. One student, perhaps the most attractive young girl in my classes, has been gone for two weeks to a beauty pageant for mothers. | didn't ask what this was all about, but she is not one of the mothers. She has excused herself for this, | mean the missing classes part. What am | supposed to do with all these excuses? My response is no problem; it is your choice of whether or not to be here. But they go on and on about why they were not, or did not, or don't have, or couldn't have, or won't be able to, etc. When giving an excuse or asking what they think is a delicate question, | guess, the physical space is closer than | am used to. They stand in front of you very close, softly offering today's story about the dog that “ate my homework.” 
Most of my students are reticent. Most are very soft-spoken. Most blush when asked questions. Many don’t look at you when addressed. And | just found out this evening that the culture says don’t answer questions with an obvious yes answer. This is difficult when you are demanstrating yes/no English questions. Did you have a nice weekend? It is Monday and the students are there in class and awake. You shouldn't take offense. The silence is an answer in the affirmative, in language class with an emphasis on speaking. 

There is another Jitka. She is the department secretary. She is very nice, but ! haven't seen her for almost two weeks. She is home with a cold. The idea is that if you have a cold, you stay home until you are completely rid of it. Of course, you must present a doctor's excuse upon contracting the cold. Or, is it an excuse from the doctor? The effect is the same, | guess. 

 Jitka says things to me which | find strange. Because there is a language barrier, and a cultural one which | am still finding out about, this makes for confusion and awkwardness. | was working on the computer in her office one evening and she came in and said how glad she was that | was there. Nothing else, just glad. {| soon left having finished what | was doing. | don't think she even said good bye. 
She stopped me on the street and apologized for not being at work. Who the hell am 
i? She is the secretary to the chair of the department. She stopped me on the street another

p 3.
time and scolded me, 1 think in a kidding sort of way, for not saying hello to her. But | really couldn't tell. She made a point of asking me to report my weekend activities to her on Monday. | don't know why the request, but | said | would see her later.
 
One of her jobs is to help foreign teachers get their work permits. She did this for me by taking care of all the paperwork and then officially representing herself as my agent at the police office where you must register and personally show up to receive your residence permit. She forged my name. She boasted that she even used her left hand. She knows | am left-handed. The police know she did this. But they looked away when she committed the forgery because they did not want to witness it. | know | am not the only one she has committed this crime for. 

| gave her some cookies which had coconut in them. She said she now had to bake something for me. | told her not to. After all, | hate coconut. She also said she would not eat the last one because it came from a sixteenth century recipe and she likes old things. Was she referring to me in addition to the cookie? How long was she going to keep this coconut cookie? Mysteries. Sometimes it all seems like some kind of quicksand, and | don't know if! am sinking or bumbling my way around unseen and treacherous hazards. 
| have since taken to going to her office-the copy machine is there as weil as the | daily mail--when she is not there, which is most of the time. She comes in, when she comes in, at about eight thirty, or later after her errands. She takes lunch from twelve to ane thirty or so. And leaves at two thirty, or a little before. Piece of cake—I think | am making my way around any quicksand. Now that I think of it, | am not realy safe yet. She could be out on the street somewhere! 
Hanka and Norman are other mysteries. They, perhaps at Norman's instigation, he's from Scotland and feels his Celtic or whatever oats, have decided to pull my leg, a lot. 
Every time | see them. They represent several new businesses here in Liberec (the c is a 

ts). | don't think they are real. Perhaps the tour company is real. !t sounded good when they talked about it. But one enterprise is a Czech language school. | am sure it isn't real. It has the name, Czech Girlfriend Agency. Language school, right. | was shamed into filling out an application. | don't even know these people! Hanka and Norman. But | admit | was in a pub drinking beer with them at the time. 
Curiously, | received an e-mail message from Hanka quite soberly saying that my application lacked sufficient detail. t would have to answer the questions more completely, or was it answer more questions? She had many candidates to teach me Czech. In the face of this sand trap, | have taken the offensive. | fired questions back. Could be another pond of quicksand--to ask questions back--but it seems innocent. But you never know. 

Departmental meetings are definitely quicksand. Four or five different nationalities/cultures with varying amounts of English and tremendous frustrations because this is not like Kansas, or wherever, and no leadership for the meetings or the department as we might want it to be in an admittedly evolving international microcosm. But departmental stories are shop talk and lead to the boring and inane. And | tire easily of gossip, as you might be tired by now with these maunderings. | have better subjects to get to and perhaps share, later. 

Just know | am well and getting better, even though 1 am probably in quicksand up to my nostrils. Living here is always a challenge and sometimes very difficult. My conclusion for now is that you cannot walk softly and leave no trace in the forests of a foreign culture. Pine needles crunch under your footsteps just because you are there, and now and again you must part the undergrowth just to get by. May they come to know me by my good intentions and not because | stray from the well-worn locai's ways. | cannot disrobe myself of my culture, nor escape who | am. But then again, you never know.

Thursday, February 20, 2025

Go away

[This effort was inspired by what my granddaughter said, or perhaps Lola herself in early 2025. The word-salad is not addressed to anyone, nor is it autobiographical.*]

"I love you. Go 'way," she said ta the dog.
Which route me out of a sleepy, dense fog.
The meaning we thought (Hold. Tarry a pace.):
That which was missing is only a space.
Away as she said it takes err us to:
"Look. See. It fits it like slipper or shoe."
Well, self-styled indie, don't think as said thus:
festers a blister with poisonous pus.
Rather to let live and let things here be.
All is and happens--it is not about thee.
It is you AND me, embrace us now love,
towards that path, the way--that best fitting glove.
Only by that way there to discover
birth and destiny's true nature's mother.
Suckle the nectar that feeds each other.
The command's to aim with true surety.
Treasure's there--yes, in our twos' unity.
The world is all one; no need we atone,
if we read at one. No grievous misdeed
damns us now or then, nor decent our seed.
We are always on path, adult and child,
no age or birthday, hmm, just a bit wild.
We by ourselves we can love without shame,
'cause believe it from this, life is a game
to play; enjoy is the sense without sin.
Love is the way that gives living a grin.

__________
I take that back in whole or in part, that is that "[This] word-salad is not addressed to anyone, nor is it autobiographical." For my thoughts on same, I will keep my own council. Any advice expressed above is an index finger pointing somewhere with the thumb clearly pointing right back at me.

Saturday, January 11, 2025

No (more) B. S.

no bs

New Year's resolutions gets a bad rap,
'cause January's end opens the gap.
What energy was when first they was made,
gives way to things now duty-new evade.

A resolve's difficult to keep on track
with all life's diverts sure keep full the sack.
Not just that but most we useless do prove.
Hard it is to keep good 'nd true our groove.

So come it will when at this first month's end,
I'll keep resolve, dismiss the dross and rend
all that stuff that begs us tend, and please spend,
and asks to bend an ear, 'Be sure attend.'

I'll up and say, 'Look at me, this to see:
Better to live and just let my self be.'
Most or all that crap takes our precious time,
Must avoid all these matters for sublime.

Thus I'll have my days my own. Off, flip it.
Live the good life; best ignore (more) B. S.

Sunday, December 15, 2024

NotebookLM's take

I experimented with Google's NotebookLM and was pleasantly surprised by the audio commentary produced about this very blog. Here is the audio file.

Sort me blog.wav

You will note in listening, or you may not now that I think about it, that there is an error concerning who this J. K. Mactavish is. The error is in saying that "it" is a "they" not a singular person, me. 

And as to their not knowing who the person is, I have elsewhere cautioned that who I am is what I have said or written. Other aspects of biography (e.g., where I live, my education, etc.) do not mean much, or should not, or I am too shy or embarrassed to get into any of that. 

Gosh, ex-wives and others might object to exposure, or because of mine, try to come after me for . . .

To remedy the error and to approximate the dialogue, I went through the NotebookLM transcription once and tried to sort them, the two speakers, out. (I had as much trouble doing that as I have trying to sort me out, and they are not worth the effort of more careful word-smithing and separating who said what.) 

But for what it is worth, and it's not much, just a few references from the actual range of stuff in this blog, here is a still imperfect representation of what two disembodied voices said.

All right, so today we're doing something a little different. Different.

Yeah, different.

Yeah. We're diving into the mind of J.K. Mactavish through his blog, Sort Me.

Okay.

And it's going to be like a literary treasure hunt because we've got posts spanning like over a decade. Wow. From like 2011 all the way to 2024.

Okay.

And it's everything from language to art to AI. And it's not just the variety of topics, right? This is Mactavish's thought process.

Yeah.

He takes these like everyday things like a Freud theory or a confusing idiom and turns it into this like springboard for these really interesting reflections.

Yeah. And you can tell he's been like thinking about this stuff for a while.

We've got posts from so far back. You can really see how his thinking has evolved even just in the way he writes. Just skimming through, I noticed some recurring themes like language, art interpretation, even this like skepticism towards easy answers. Which makes sense given how Mactavish describes himself. Lifelong learner.

Oh, yeah.

He's a teacher, but also someone who's constantly like wrestling with how much we don't know.

Yeah. Like in his post, Why I Don't Teach Sims.

Sims. Yeah. Sayings, idioms, metaphors.

Oh, right. He argues you can't really teach those things formally because they're so culturally ingrained. Oh, that's so true.

I once tried to explain the phrase jump the shark to a friend.

Oh, no.

Who was not from the U.S. and just got blank stares.

Yeah. They're fluent in English, but some things just don't translate.

Right.

And Mactavish has this hilarious anecdote about that. Oh, yeah. With an idiom that stumped even his highly educated non-native English speaking friends.

Oh, wow. It just shows the limits of language itself.

For sure.

And Mactavish is not afraid of those gray areas, which is where it gets interesting.

Yeah. Especially when he tackles Freud.

Oh, yeah. The repression redux post. Yes.

Now, I'm familiar with Freud, but Mactavish's take on that whole Signorelli parapraxis thing is next level. For those who need a refresher, Freud forgets the name of this artist whose frescoes he admired. Signorelli.

Yes, Signorelli. And Freud goes into this whole analysis about death and sexuality making him repress the name.

Okay.

But Mactavish suggests Freud might be unconsciously avoiding the real connection, the actual content of Signorelli's art, which was full of death and sexuality. It's like he's overlooking the most obvious link.

Exactly.

And what's fascinating is Mactavish actually uses OpenAI to fact check Freud.

Wow. Like using 21st century tech to dissect a theory from the 1900s.

Very Mactavish. Classic Mactavish, always questioning even the giants.

Yeah.

It makes you wonder what else we just blindly accept as truth. Right.

Okay.

This next bit is where Mactavish's thinking gets really relevant to today. AI and its implications. Un-faking authenticity. He goes beyond just like how to cite AI in writing. Because it's bigger than citations.

Right.

It's about how AI blurs the lines of authorship itself.

Yeah. Like as AI gets more sophisticated, how do we trust what we're reading? How do we even know who or what is behind the words?

Right.

And in that post, Mactavish does something really clever.

What's that? It's almost like a meta-commentary. He uses AI chat bots, Perplexity, and chatGPT.

Okay.

To generate responses about how to cite AI usage.

Oh, wow.

Yeah. Right. It's like holding up a digital mirror to our changing relationship with technology.

It really makes you wonder like, are we headed towards this future where you can't tell human writing from AI writing?

Yeah. And does it even matter?

Right. These are questions I hadn't even like considered before reading Sort Me.

And that's what I love about Mactavish's thinking. He's not afraid to ask the hard questions, even if it means like sitting with the discomfort of not having easy answers. And you see that a lot in his blog.

Yeah. These posts that end with open-ended questions.

Right. It's like this invitation to keep grappling with the ideas. It's like, hey, I'm figuring this out too, you know? Join me.

Join the struggle. Right.

Which actually brings us to something you mentioned earlier that I found fascinating.

Okay.

His email signature.

Ah, yes.

You're telling me you analyze email signatures now. Well, sometimes the most unexpected places hold the most telling details. Mactavish's signature reads, For rich and poor, never enough. With equal measures of care to provide essential needs, all thrive. Propose designs and supply what will suffice. Start yesterday. Today, we're late to the party.

Wow. That is quite a statement.

Right. Not your typical Sent from my iPhone. Not at all.

It really speaks to a sense of urgency.

Yeah.

This belief that we need to act now to address inequality.

Yeah. Find solutions that work for everyone. It's a call to action at the bottom of an email.

I love it. It's like his email signature is a mini manifesto.

Precisely.

And it reveals this thread that runs through all of Mactavish's work.

Oh, yeah. This deep-seated belief in our shared humanity.

Even when he's analyzing these complex theories or grappling with technology, there's this underlying hopefulness.

You're right. It's like he's saying, yes, the world is messy and complicated. But we can make it better. But we have the capacity to make it better.

Exactly.

Yeah. And that's an important takeaway from this deep dive, I think.

What's that?

It's easy to get bogged down in the details, the jargon, the complexities of these topics.

Right.

But at the heart of it all is this belief in our potential to learn to grow, to create a more just and equitable world. And that's a message I think we can all get behind.

It's funny, we've spent all this time unpacking Mactavish's thoughts, and I realize we know so little about him as a person. What kind of life experiences led him to ask these big questions?

Well, that's the beauty of this kind of deep dive, isn't it? Like we're detectives. Yeah.

Piecing together these clues from his writing, glimpsing the mind of someone we may never actually meet. It is like digital archaeology, but instead of pottery shards, it's blog posts.

Exactly.

And while we might not have all the answers about who Mactavish is, you know, in his day-to-day life, I think one thing's for sure.

What's that?

He's a thinker.

Yeah.

Someone who really engages with the world with this curiosity and like a healthy dose of skepticism. And that's something I think we could all use a bit more of.

Definitely.

That willingness to question, to dig deeper, to not just take things at face value. And that's the power of a blog like Sort Me.

Yeah.

It's not just like a collection of thoughts.

Right.

t's an invitation to think alongside Mactavish, to see the world through his unique lens. So to anyone listening who's looking for a little mental stimulation. A little break from the everyday? Yeah. A break from the everyday. I highly recommend checking out Sort Me. You might be surprised by what you discover. You might surprise yourself.

About Mactavish and yourself. Exactly.

And on that note. We'll leave you to continue the exploration. Happy reading, everyone.

Happy reading.