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A machine that pours water down a chute with a word at the bottom.

A measuring cup directly underneath each gap between the pairs of letters.

Each cup has the same amount of water in it after all the water has poured down and through the gaps.

I recently read an article about someone who experienced trauma when they were very young, and how it manifested itself for the rest of his life as “the darkness”, a kind of demonic presence that was always looming.

It was a very sad read. Though a very busy person, he found no joy in work, relationships, exercise or hobbies. Eventually, he took his life.

I learned about Bills’ wide receiver Zay Jones’ incident last night, and began to think about it in that the context of “the darkness”. I wonder if he, too, has some kind of burden he carries, tied to experiences he cannot forget or wishes never happened.

I’m also torn up about all the stories coming forth regarding victims of abuse at the hands of those who should be their nurturers. The darkness that follows them must be excruciating. It’s encouraging to see them bringing their stories to the light.

If I had to define depression, it would be this darkness thing that follows you around and can’t be shaken off. I think we all experience it from time to time—something just beyond the horizon, or inching closer behind us in the rearview mirror. Most of us have learned to block it out, or ignore it. At our best, we learn to confront and defeat it. Life is tough, but we persevere.

We label people who are forced to cope with horrifying experiences, and who lack the facility to overcome the darkness, as depressed, mentally ill, unstable. First and foremost, however, they’re survivors, fighters, soldiers, heroes. They are us. We must replace words that marginalize and pigeon-hole with ones that humanize and empower. The darkness doesn’t stand a chance against community.

2 hockey games done with, now we’re reading counterpane fairy and playing perfection.

I need to keep up with this. Sorry for the lag. I need to record all these little things.

Eli was fun to watch in Irish Dance today. I love walking home from there, in the dusk, Eli and Nancy running ahead as we walk home. It makes me think I’m in movie or something.

Grif had a solo in his chorus. He has a puffy head of hair. I didn’t get to watch, but the thought of his puffy head singing as everyone watched is pretty funny.

Eli wanted eggs. He asked “Is the yoke a duck?”

In the beginning, format was king. The mere fact that we were reading something on the web made it important. It had somehow come to occupy this new medium, which in itself was novel and beautiful and confusing. Whoever put it there had to be smart, and therefore the content as well.

Then, at some point, maybe the early 2000’s, content became king. Your format is getting in the way of our content, we’d say. Enough of the tables, the flash, the jpeg-rendered text. Let us read <pre> formatted courier and be fulfilled.

Then context became king; it was more important where, when, and how readers got the content than what the content actually was. Can I read it on my iWatch? Because that’s how I read stuff nowadays. Is it RTL compatible? Pft, how dare we ignore half the world (if not more)’s readership.

Contrast is next. It’s all we have left. Is it different than what I’ve seen before? Does it stand out? In my daily sea-of-noise, what clambers to the surface, bobbing aggressively for attention like some snagged snapper float? That’s what I’ll read.