In my imagination “The Internet” descended from the deep reaches of the universe and settled upon our planet like a mist. We began to interact with this powerful and mysterious entity without any real understanding of how it was going to effect us, or even if it was going to effect us. Most of us just assumed it was going to make things better, amplifying potential in a good, rather than harmful way.

However, it hasn’t exactly worked out that way. The astonishing gifts we’ve enjoyed have come with tremendous penalties, the primary of which might be a massive, unacknowledged mental health crisis.

I don’t know about you, but I have never seen as many declarations of anxiety and depression in my life as I now see on a regular basis online. It’s not at all uncommon for me to have multiple chat windows open at once, each one a conversation with a friend in crisis. This is highly subjective of course, and that people now have the means and social sanction to communicate their feelings might be something to celebrate, or, as my intuition suggests,  it could be something in the disembodied interactions we’ve been reducing ourselves to that’s causing this articulated spike in mental health problems.

It seems that the more we inhabit the abstracted realm of The Internet, the more certain we become of our beliefs. This is highly ironic to me, because we all know that amidst the spin and swirl of disinformation, fake news and uncanny algorithms, we should be as skeptical of claims to truth and certainty as we’ve ever been.

Take the White Power symbols that have been in the news.

As you may be aware, the symbol that you always thought meant “OK,” might now mean White Power.

This transition took place about a year ago on 4Chan, where it was conceived as a conscious lie. What I mean by that is that it wasn’t a White Power sign. The intent was to take an existing symbol and change it’s meaning, thus confusing the public and media and further eroding the idea of public trust.

Regardless, once this meme was in the blood stream there was no way to know what the use of the symbol meant. Did the person know it was a white power sign? Were they just saying “OK!?” Were they making a joke? Were they communicating racist ideology?

The first instance of this that I saw was of White House Advisor Zina Bash during a Supreme Court confirmation hearing.

Based on this image, people thought she was a White Supremacist.

Bash is of Mexican and Jewish heritage, and this photo that was widely circulated was a high resolution screen capture of a video, so she was in motion, not in a fixed, posed position. Claims that she was communicating a racist message seemed to me ambiguous at best. But people I know, like and respect saw this photograph, and others like it,

as crystal clear evidence of racist intent. Where I saw nothing but ambiguity, they saw none.

It felt like looking at the Neckar’s Cube, like some optical illusion was at play and the mechanics of our brains were prohibiting us from seeing the same thing.

There was simply no consensus on what was real. We were living two different stories when looking at the images. Where I was looking at what was directly in front of me, my friends were looking at circumstance, or perhaps subtext, seeing this single image as part of a much greater and evolving narrative.

Perhaps I am antique in my thinking, but when I see stories like these, I look for a kind of “courtroom proof.” If I have doubt, I am unwilling to prosecute the reputation and livelihood of the person being judged, even if they might still be suspicious to me. Maybe that makes me unwilling to act, and if so that is a sin I will one day have to answer for. Regardless, online a “thing” is true if it has momentum, if it supports the continuance of a passionately held belief, not if it meets some “clinical” standard of proof.

As our shared sense of truth and morality fall away– and disagreement leads to suspicion, if not flat-out contempt– we fearlessly share our certainties, but shamefully keep our uncertainties sheltered within, anxious that we’ll be attacked rather than supported by those whom we would love, and that, well that’s making us all feel a little jumpy and untethered.

After more than 460,000 miles, the 2022 edition of The Amazing Race came to an end last night with husband and wife duo Justin Trudeau and Sophie Gregoire being crowned the winners! CBS spoke with Justin and Sophie to ask about their experience!

CBS: “Congratulations on your victory! Can you tell us how it felt when you won The Amazing Race?”

Sophie: “Oh, it was unbelievable. We were so physically and mentally exhausted at that point that it was just music to our ears!”

Justin: “This was really, really big. I think the only thing I can compare it to was surviving the Black Trump Virus back in 2019 when it wiped out almost a third of the world population.”

CBS: “What do you think was the secret to your success on The Amazing Race? ”

Sophie: “I believe the biggest thing was that we really thought through the Roadblocks and the Detours. At first we were really impulsive, just jumping in very aggressively, you know? But after our encounter with the underground tribes of Cannibal Island, we realized we were going to have to take a more strategic, measured approach.”

Justin: “Look, I’m very competitive person and I always expect to win. Before Peoplekind’s first contact with The Radium, I was the leader of a great nation, so I had the ability to build consensus with the tribes of Cannibal Island, and working together as one, we were able to destroy some of the other competing couples, namely Adam and Bethany.”

CBS: “That looks like a Canadian flag you have stitched onto your bindles. You were President of Canada in the Before Time, weren’t you?”

Justin: “Prime Minister, actually, but yes, it is true. We were known for our tolerance, diversity and inclusivity.”

Sophie: “Canada, toujours dans nos cœurs!”

CBS: “Indeed, we were all very sorry to see Canada burn during the dimensional shifts. So many fine comics used to come from there.”

Justin: “ Yes, Shaun Majumber, Rick Mercer and Russell Peters to name just a few.

CBS: “So what was your favourite moment from the Race?”

Sophie: “Oh gosh, definitely, the Bollywood Challenge we won in Global Sector 6. So much fun!”

Justin: “Absolutely, it was a real game changer.”

CBS: “So as a successful team, what advice would you give to future contestants going on the show?”

Sophie: “You must make all of the scheduled blood sacrifices to The Radium. It doesn’t matter if you’re exhausted or wounded, you still have to perform the entire sacrifice. Correctly. And if you don’t, The Radium will know! Look what happened to the mother son team of Dot and Danny.”

Justin: “I would just add that even though it’s important for you to respect the survivors of all the Global Sectors you visit, you really are better off shooting first and asking questions later. ”

CBS: “Do you have any special plans for the Oxygen Credits you just won on The Amazing Race?

Justin: “For now we’re not going to change. We’re going to just continue hunting and gathering, but eventually we would like to be able to acquire a flesh slave.”

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Dear Bitter Writer:

I think that having the capacity to feel a broad array of emotions is a big component of being a great, great writer, like you are, and with that in mind I was wondering what the first book that made you cry was?

Igor

Igor:

This one is very easy.

The first book that made me cry was Horton Hears a Who!

Completely fucking terrifying.

Dr. Seuss was one messed-up guy, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he turned out to some sort of unknown serial killer. He’s like a Stephen King for children. You should fear him.

Anyway, I was probably about four when this book was first read to me, and I immediately understood that our world was no different than the speck of dust Horton was holding. Our lives– even those of Mommy and Daddy– were incredibly precarious and vulnerable, subject to forces we know nothing about and couldn’t even begin to imagine. At any second, all we knew and loved could just vanish into an unknowable abyss. I did not sleep for two weeks after the babysitter (Summer) read this stupid book to me, and ever since, I’ve been cursed by a deeply penetrating existential terror, one that continues to govern my days.

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Dear Bitter Writer:

You’re such an interesting and charismatic person, I was wondering if you’d share with us any literary pilgrimages you might have gone on?

Oscar winning actress Jennifer Lawrence

Jennifer:

Ha, so great to hear from you!

As far as your question goes, I’ve never been on a, “this is the cafeteria where Kafka ate,” or, “ this is the dungeon where Dr. Seuss used to torture his victims,” kind of pilgrimage. Instead, I think of each day as a literary pilgrimage. I go out with the conscious intent of finding a moment of beauty in the world, of discovering something holy, and then I try to recreate it using words. And so each day is a journey, a pilgrimage toward something sacred that must be worshipped. 

PS: Have you been getting my postcards? I have not heard back and was wondering if I was given the wrong super-yacht address for you?

PPS: I think you’re something sacred that must be worshipped!

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Dear Bitter Writer:

I just want to say how much I LOVED your brilliant book A VAN FULL OF GIRLS.

It is, and I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, the work of a true genius. Obviously, writing just pours out of you, but if for some reason you couldn’t be a genius writer, what do you think you’d do for work?

Taylor

Taylor:

Thank you for the kind, extremely perceptive words!

It’s hard to imagine a life where I’m not a writer, but if I were forced to live one by some alien over-lord or something, I think I would probably be a model. I think I could bring a lot to that job.

His pitches were comets from distant and never imagined galaxies. They were rockets, they were bombs, they were terrifying, curving flourishes that made you think you were watching the astonishing dazzle of an alien technology. It was a new kind of physics, one that allowed him to perform stunning feats that lifted us from our lousy, mortal shells,.

He was a blazing fire, a goddamned Demi-God.

Fernandez died in a boating accident on Sunday at the age of 24.

( This is a photograph of Dee Gordon, Jose Fernandez’s teammate. Gordon is known for his speed, not his power, and he is so thin and little that he truly looks like a child out there amongst the gigantic professional athletes. On the first game back after his friend’s death, in his first at bat, he hit a home run, and as he circled the bases he wept like a boy. As he said later in an interview, “I ain’t never hit a ball that far, even in batting practice. I told the boys, ‘If you all don’t believe in God, you better start.’ For that to happen today, we had some help.”)

Three times, Jose attempted to defect from Cuba to the US unsuccessfully, and after each failed attempt he was put in prison where, still a boy, he shared space with hard and dangerous men. In 2007, at the age of 15, he made the crossing successfully, but not before somebody on his boat was washed overboard. Fernandez, operating on the pure instinct of a boy that age, when right and wrong seem clear, and your body, your entire life, is still radiant and unlimited, dove into the night waters to save the person. He had no idea who had been swept into the ocean, and with each stroke he took, an eight-foot wave grabbed him, lifting him up into the shifting darkness above, before splashing down and submerging him again. The person, somewhere before him, bobbing in and out of sight, was his mother. He got to her, told her to hold tight to his left shoulder, asked her not to push down, and slowly swam her back to the boat.

Imagine that.

Imagine doing something so great with your life.

His baseball career was short and beautiful and joyous. It was something to behold, each start an event I got excited for, anticipating it the same way some other people might anticipate a new Game of Thrones episode or a Bruce Springsteen concert.

He was, in a word, awesome, and his death was a tragedy for the communities he lived amongst, and even beyond, even to a 50 year-old white guy living in Toronto who found himself trying to explain to his wife why he’s crying about the death of some pitcher on his fantasy baseball team.

The boat Fernandez was on the night of his death was traveling around 55-60 mph. He was with two of his friends, both around his age, and it was late. It would have been dark, black even– nothing but the feel of water beneath and sky above. Everything beautiful, the wind and spray and stars in his face, infinity spreading out in all directions…And Jose Fernandez, soon to be a father, moving into the future with such velocity, confidence and hard earned momentum… And then the boat hit a rock jetty and all three of the men died on impact.

Just like that.

They would not have known what had happened.

Our lives are so brief.

We’re all speeding through the dark, the beautiful and the damned, alike, each one of us luckier and more vulnerable than we could ever imagine.

The seals of Rollo Bay would only allow us to come to within about 20 feet of them before clamoring off into the water. Slightly hurt that they didn’t love and trust us more, we’d sit watching, pleading with our eyes. Alien and mysterious, arrayed in undecipherable formations, they just bobbed in the water “They know so much more than we do,” Rachelle said to me.  And after about an hour, as we motored away, one seal bulleted along with the boat, always watching, a decoy to lead us away from the greater pod now settling back on the sands.

Prince Edward Island is stunningly simple and beautiful, a sort of land that time forgot– like a place in a movie rather than a place in the world. We stayed with some friends at their cottage on Fortune Bay, near Souris, where their families return each year to effortlessly entwine like forest. Children and dogs run freely about in an endless golden summer, while the adults, smiling and just slightly melancholy, watch from beyond.

A sweet man who looked like he belonged on a rum bottle played acoustic guitar in front of the fire singing Farewell to Nova Scotia:

Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast,

Let your mountains dark and dreary be,

For when I am far away, on the briny ocean tossed,

Will you ever hear a sigh or a wish for me?

He sang it slowly, a eulogy rather than the typical jaunty, Irish Rovers kind of celebration. His east coast voice was thick and true, and the song was beautiful and heartbreaking. His wife watched keenly from the sofa, her hands pressed together hoping that he would speed up the tempo, but he didn’t, he didn’t, and somebody’s ghost lingered long after the song was finished.

One night I was speaking with a middle-aged woman about the royal family, and how in spite of it all, she cared.

“They’re not just celebrities, they’re a family and their presence ties them to my family. It’s visceral, organic, and there’s not a woman my age that didn’t weep when Lady Diana died. Oh, the poor thing– beautiful like a fawn– the eating disorders, the unhappiness, and then when she became herself, her death. And so I’ve followed her children, so alone, really, and when I heard William and Kate had their baby on the radio I was so moved I had to pull over and text my sister, and all up and down the highway, other cars were doing exactly the same thing. ”

A beautiful and sophisticated couple from Montreal rent a cottage in the area each year. All of the men have secret crushes on Pierre, while all of the women have secret crushes on Louise. One night they shared a Quebecois song from the 70s with us as we sat out on the steps of the cottage. Louise, wrapped in a blanket, sang along from her perch, while Pierre, in a voice from some film you never forget, translated the words for us, and through this translation the song took on many voices, becoming a history made manifest, a poem still unfolding as the stars wheeled above.

*With thanks to Victoria Bazan and Rob Hyndman, who provided most of the photographs and everything else. ( And to many, many others, too.)

It was covered with black hair all over her body. She ran across the county road, squatted down and when I got close to it, she made eye contact with me, jumped up and began to run beside the truck!

I know what I saw and I never believed the reports until it happened to my daughter and me that rainy night.

I was tree planting in British Columbia back around 2000. My partner and I were dropped off at a site that hadn’t been seeded for 10 years, and as such there were no evidence of human activity there at all. I remember remarking to Andrew that the truck tires leading in to the sight, now 10 years old, looked like artifacts on the moon. It was a little bit spooky, I guess, but it was nothing we really thought about.

Anyway, after a couple of hours of planting we came across some giant footprints in the middle of this nowhere. Bigfoot, right? I never believed in this sort of thing, but here was this massive, inconceivable footprint, and we followed it from step to step, each stride being about four feet. The footprints were fresh, too, I mean, it hadn’t been there more than a day or two, and as we followed the trail we came to a part where there were dozens of these prints all over the place, and then they all vanished into the forest. I never for a second believed in something like Bigfoot, and I can’t really say that I do now, but I honestly don’t know what it was we saw. I mean, if it was a hoax, why would they do it out there, in the middle of the interior of BC where nobody would see it, and if it wasn’t a hoax, what was it?

When I was 35 years old I was visiting my twin brother who at the time was living in Mad River. We were deer hunting high in the Trinity/Shasta Park in a thick-forested area. We split up and after 20 minutes all my hair stood on end because I began to feel there was something behind me in the ferns and forest. And then after 5 minutes a huge rock (30 pounds) was thrown into the creek bed near to me, and frightened I decided to head back to the truck. I waited in the truck for 40 minutes before my brother showed up. He had no idea what I was talking about, so I know he didn’t throw that rock. I’ve been hunting deer for 35 years all over America and this was the creepiest thing that has ever happened to me.  Personally, I think it was the Bigfoot who threw the rock at my head, and just so you know I’m not nuts, I have an MS and PHD in Organic Chemistry from Arizona State University.