I remember loving the book "Last love in Constantinople". It is a fiction book that comes with instructions suggesting that the reader pull tarot using just the major arcana and then read the book's chapters in the derived order.
Lately, I almost never find the place in myself to settle into reading as deeply as I once enjoyed. When I would read a lot, I wouldn't stress at all about how I moved through or sat with a text, linear or not. Instead, reading itself was pure play. Much of that joy now feels alien to me, a faint dream. I can remember feeling the transition away from being situated in deep focus as normal and into something much more reactive as the new normal. It's almost like I expect to be smacked in the back of the head at any moment. I feel as if my eyes are anxious not to waste anymore time where they are. Occasionally, when I get a few days off from work, step away from my numerous obligations, get a few miles of running in, alternate between the sauna and the cold, I briefly find myself remembering what it was like to have a deeper reading practice. I delight in those rare moments where I find that I can sit with a math book, say, and have something I want to direct my attention toward, and I don't mind at all that the content undresses slowly. I don't even care that it would in some ways be more efficient to discuss the topic with an LLM.
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