When I talk…it's a symphony of ideas. I just tell the truth and telling the truth is crazy in a world full of lies. — Kanye West

I apologize, dear reader.

I have been a bad correspondent.

Much like Daylight Saving Time, weeks bereft of White Noise have come and gone.

I would say that I had no time, but that would be incorrect (to put it euphemistically).

Ashamedly, White Noise has not been a priority for me these past few weeks.

The truth is, I have been battling a terrible case of Writer’s Block and have failed to prioritize the time and space needed for good writing.

In the words of Edgar Allen Poe, I have been “excessively slothful.” I take solace in knowing that these kinds of torturous spells are not uncommon:

I am excessively slothful, and wonderfully industrious—by fits. There are epochs when any kind of mental exercise is torture, and when nothing yields me pleasure but solitary communion with the “mountains & the woods”—the “altars” of Byron. I thus rambled and dreamed away whole months, and awake, at last, to a sort of mania for composition. Then I scribble all day, and read all night, so long as the disease endures. — Edgar Allen Poe

In lieu of our regularly scheduled programming — a rather long post of dubious merit met with thundering silence — this week, I am trying something different.

Normally, I only write when ready. That is, when I have spent hours, days, weeks even, unearthing the structure of a piece like a paleontologist delicately brushing dirt off ancient bone.

Not this week.

To end my written drought, I present a deluge of letters, words, sentences that have tumbled from the tendrils of my mind.

What follows is an intellectual grab bag of thoughts without rhyme or reason, context or theme.

I aim for the below to be short, punchy, and informationally dense. Not dense like a physics textbook, mind you, but dense like a grandmother’s spongy poundcake.

The below is an exercise in saying “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers.”

It is comfort with the nascency of my ideas, the feebleness of my initial opinions, and the weight (or lack thereof) of my arguments.

The below captures a list of things I’m wondering about, to which I have not arrived at a resolution.

Some are original, others are not.

Some are complex, others obvious.

Some are siloed, others a hodgepodge derived from various sources.

If derivative, I blame Picasso and his alleged axiom: “Good artists copy; great artists steal.”

And so, what follows is a bit of intellectual dreck scooped from the surface of my frothing brain.

Without further ado:

Ten Thoughts about This and That

At its core, investment management is about two things: protecting assets and asses.
Do flies know when they’re inside?
In the age of social distancing, we ought to practice a good deal more social media distancing.
Why do we refer to a dog as “fixed” upon the unnatural removal of its reproductive organs?
What is the present but the immediate past? (What you’re experiencing right now—in this moment—has just slipped away, never to be encountered in real time again.)
It’s incredible how clear liquids (e.g. tequila and vodka) can render thoughts, evenings, and ideas so dirty and muddled.
Do we really know our parents if we only experience a tiny sliver of their lives (i.e. their time as parents)?
Business is no more than spreadsheets and storytelling: presenting coherent numbers and crafting a compelling narrative.
When did the Berenstein Bears legally change their name to the Berenstain Bears? (Be careful, this is a rabbit hole)
What tyrannical governing body decided that every child in America would read Holes in elementary school and The Giver in middle school?
A gift if you’re still with me—You don’t have to convince people, you simply have to make it impossible/scary for them to cross you off their list.