I’m sorry; once again, this won’t be a post about robots or intersectionality; it will not be thoroughly researched or particularly polished or even edited. It seems like these brain-dumps are all I can manage these days, as the heat and the constant feeling of dread in the background zap me of motivation. Yet strangely, it’s also times like this when I am the most motivated to write. It is here and now when writing becomes like drinking water or eating or emptying bowels, something that could be described as a deep psychological need, if not a physical one, not only useful to me but necessary, if useless to anyone else.