Cafe Bedouin
Cafe Bedouin
Cafe Bedouin
This is my show. It’s a blog as hupomnemata. Michael Foucault defined hupomnemata as a personal notebook similar to a spiritual journal but with a different goal. He did not want “to pursue the unspeakable, nor to reveal the hidden, nor to say the unsaid [like a spiritual journal does], but on the contrary to capture the already said, to collect what one has managed to hear or read, and for a purpose that is nothing less than the shaping of the self.”
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A manifesto for the creative affinity group You may already have the group. People you would text a strange idea to at midnight. But, many of us don’t have a circle of friends who build us up, help us transform and transcend our past...
Every frontier lab runs the largest canon-formation project in literary history and calls it a data pipeline. Look at the actual operations. Crawl the written world. Deduplicate it. Filter it for “quality” — a value judgment wearing a...
The experiment took one word. Hearts of Glass is a story from this site — written with models, as most of the fiction here is, but outside the pipeline the archive documents: it began as a conversation about human hibernation, and the...
Act One They woke her first, the way they always did, because she came up slower and Aaron liked to be awake when she surfaced so hers wasn’t the only face in the room that had missed him too. The waking room was warm. That was the first...
Act One They woke her first, the way they always did, because she came up slower and Aaron liked to be awake when she surfaced so hers wasn’t the only face in the room that had missed him too. The waking room was warm. That was the first...
An argument, three failures, and what the failures leave The conclusion at the end of this shouldn’t be accepted on its own. Stated flat, it sounds like a shrug: whether a preference is really yours is not a question you can answer, and...
The kitchen light was the only one on in the house, and Cole was already under it when Russ came down. Six birds on the counter, out of the plastic now, pale and sweating in the trays. Their mother had made this every year for the church...
These aren’t polished essays or tidy aphorisms. They’re scraps I’ve carried around this month—half-heard thoughts, borrowed lines, sudden recognitions—that refused to be forgotten. Zuihitsu literally means “following the brush,” and...
I. The Height of the Mark The soil-reader came to the Vask terrace on the third morning after thaw, chalk in a tin box, an assistant to carry the ladder. Odrun stood in his doorway with Sennet beside him and watched the man measure the...
You go down empty-handed or the telling is a lie. That was the first thing Weha put in me, before the breath work, before the shelves, before she ever let me past the first drop. A teller carries nothing up. Not one shell, not one fish,...
Can you find food for us?” she asked, rather vaguely and timidly. “Hunting takes time, and weapons.” “I meant, with, you know, spells.” “I can call a rabbit,” he said, poking the fire with a twisted stick of juniper. “The rabbits are...