Unrequired Reading

I am notoriously bad at building habits. Cycling lasted six months despite two bikes. So the two zeros in this numbering system are entirely optimistic. Welcome to the first Unrequired Reading where I share my enthusiasms and how I become engrossed.

Reading more

Two changes since my phone started running my life. First: no phones at the bedside. Waking at 3am was leading to surprise purchases and Instagram binges. But to kill the habit I needed to replace it, so I bought a tiny epaper phone with RSS, Bluesky, Google Books, nothing else.

I purchased the BOOX Palma 2, its nickname is Pamela. So far it's been really successful, a few books I've enjoyed:

• Saturn Run A hard sci-fi sprint to Saturn where the geopolitical tension and engineering problem-solving keep you gripped even if the characters themselves stay a bit thin.
• After The Fall Surprisingly fun and breezy romp through a post-apocalyptic world where humans are kept as pets, and despite being a bit bloody, the whole thing barrels along with enough wit and charm. It's only 250 pages too.

Eagerly awaiting two new albums

• I don't know much about Noah Kahan but The Great Divide if it's anything like the title song is going to be incredible. Expected 24th April.
• Out on May 1st is Kacey Musgraves and Middle of Nowhere, a little bit country mixed with pop but I'm here for the sass.

Note taking to a professional level

I love Obsidian but there is not yet an integrated way to interact through AI with your notes. There's a new release called Tolaria that is exciting. It uses git to manage versions and let's you choose your own sync. Not quite for me but some really nice features.

A letter of note

I'm just returning from Letters Live an event yearly in London where celebrities read letters from history, I'll share one that felt meaningful. In 1888 the painter Vincent Van Gogh wrote to his brother about death and trains.

Arles, June 1888

My dear Theo,

It certainly is a strange phenomenon that all artists, poets, musicians, painters are unfortunate in material things - the happy ones as well. That brings up again the eternal question: Is the whole of life visible to us, or isn't it rather that this side of death we see only one hemisphere?

Painters - to take them alone - dead and buried speak to the next generation or to several succeeding generations through their work.

Is that all, or is there more to come? Perhaps death is not the hardest thing in a painter's life.

For my own part, I declare I know nothing whatever about it, but looking at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots representing towns and villages on a map. Why, I ask myself, shouldn't the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? Just as we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. One thing undoubtedly true in this reasoning is that we cannot get to a star while we are alive, any more than we can take the train when we are dead.

So to me it seems impossible that cholera, gravel, tuberculosis and cancer are the celestial means of locomotion, just as steamboats, buses, and railways are the terrestrial means. To die quietly of old age would be to go there on foot.

Now I am going to bed because it is late, and I wish you good night and good luck.

With a handshake,  
Ever yours, Vincent

Yours fledglingly,
Matt