Posthuman Blues

I just ate Chinese. Now I'm doing laundry and bemoaning the fact that my weekend is perishing by the second. I'm trying to siphon enjoyment from the remaining few hours like a spider draining the fluids from a paralyzed fly.

I'm reading Peter Watts' "Maelstrom," a sequel to his first novel, "Starfish." Watts is a singular talent who does a convincing job of rendering a believably catastrophic near-future. And his website is unusually entertaining.

There is a candlelight antiwar vigil easily visible from my floor. Flames like the fuses of unseen bombs...