Empty Days

Friday, November 14, 2003

Over-blogging blow-up

Believe it or not my puter burned down the other day - right after I typed in my first unpalatable confession :-0

Whether this should be construed as divine punishment or a coincidentally arranged result of machine over-use through too much blogging, I do not know. In any case, it will be some time before I can resume this blissful or sinful activity on a regular basis - if at all.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Because

As I said, this blog should carry some more of my garbage - in the form of occasional confessions. "Dear Diary" sort of thing. Since I don't really know how many people read this blog I feel free enough to pour out whatever bad contents I am burdened with. Besides, I am pretty sure a few people will find some of the stuff oddly familiar - the good-mind has such a hard time tuning up to the the bad-within.

I've blogged about racism this past week. Watered it down somewhat but still. Here I would rather remember an episode from my life which should cast some light on the subject.

A few years back I was living in another area. At one point there was a huge fire in the building right across the street. The fire started in the upper floor apartment. From my window I watched the fire trucks, the enormous black cloud of smoke engulfing the sky, the firemen trying to fight it on the roof. I also saw a bewildered Indonesian guy in the street helplessly watching the inferno. I figured it was perhaps his apartment that was burning. Later I saw medics roll out a stretcher with a child's body on it, lifeless. All the while I felt nothing but wanton curiosity. Then I realized something else - that the reason I didn't care had something to do with the guy being Indonesian. That I didn't give a damn that a child was dead *because* this kid's father was Indonesian. Later in the news I learned that the mother died too. The fire started from a forgotten oil-pan in the kitchen.

This whole episode came as something of a shock - it has never occurred to me I might be racist. I honestly thought I was not. Turns out this "honestly" was simply "unaware". At the same time this unwanted experience opened up a whole new perspective on what racism really is - it's not necessarily hate, it is fundamental indifference, inability to empathize with other humans because of some deep inner barrier, or call it disconnection. For the life of me, now I *do* understand why it is western tv is so generous about showing mangled bodies from some african wars and why it avoids showing the mangled bodies from our local disasters here. Because.

I can't say I've dealt with it then and there. Not at all. I know this thing sits deep inside me, I don't want it there, but I can't just say it's not there when it is. The good-mind is not enough - I still need to figure out what this thing really is and what it says of my real mind. I don't know my real mind - the sentimental mind that speaks in its place is very far from the actual truth of the matter. "Truth and nothing but the truth" is largely unpalatable. Do not turn away from truth - do not consecrate your truth.


Hikikomori II

I am a hikiko-moron. A bad compromise between suicide and active life. A limbo-dweller. One of the greatest human absurdities is that you can get used to the most debasing conditions and still cling to life - even when it's absolutely not worth it. I almost admire those bums out there. How do you go on living when there's really and definitively nothing to live for? I suppose this has a lot to do with the notion of dignity. There are levels of dignity - bumping down the stairs, until you fly out into the street and be damned. Loss of wordly dignity does afford a measure of freedom, though the price is perhaps higher than one might think.

George Orwell, who was equally fascinated with the dregs of the world, went into voluntary debasement by living with the bums, deliberately undergoing the same petty daily struggles of having nowhere to sleep and not a penny to eat. His observations of how to deal with this mentally are revealing. As he points out, the worst enemy is boredom - since you really can't do much except struggle to find food, shelter, a bit of change. The antidote to this is patience. The kind of unasking, thoughtless, blank patience that offers no resistence to the constant pressures of the world - a world that does not want you, where you have no place.
Of course, Orwell's experiment was flawed from the start. Unlike his degraded companions, he had a sense of future and purpose, no matter how tenuous at the time. He knew he would not stay in the gutter - therefore his vision of the gutter doesn't really go all the way to the bottom. The mental dimension is a bit thin.

Transient is a word that expresses this perfectly. Transient not only in space but also in the way every day is nothing but an unmemorable stop on a long aimless journey. Sic transit gloria mundi - derisively unglorious. The monsters that chased you and whom you've escaped are lying in wait around the corner. What you've lost you've forgotten. There is always some more to lose. A losing game, a gamble without stakes. Death itself as expiration, an expired ticket, the end of the line. One last long wait in the ward for the poor.

Hikikomori never sink all the way to the bottom, never find freedom.


The world in your teeth

If you had to choose, what would you prefer - losing your front teeth or losing an eye? While it would seem that an eye is a much more essential and valuable part of your body than teeth, it turns out that the world disagrees: beeing ostensibly toothless is actually much more degrading and looked down upon than missing an eye.

It takes courage to go openly toothless.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Confessions to the contrary

I thought it would perhaps do some good to use this blog as a bin for unpalatable confessions rather than just an opinion-mall like I've done so far. As none of the contents of my life are exactly punishable by law, there is no need to create a technically anonymous blog like that Diary of a Pedophile which uses encryption keys and all the tralala. Encryption, my ass. I still remember the pre 1995-days (the year the internet first picked up as user-friendly mass media) when newsnet groups sported totally uncensored discussions in which you could read in all simplicity somebody's report from a private party where they had sex with a 3-year old. Yup, those were the days.

This probably sounds like I don't see anything wrong with extreme pedophilia. Not so. I've personally downloaded some of the pics circulating here and there on irc and usenet, like that b/w shot portraying graphic intercourse of a hairy male with a 5 year old. After you've seen that, you don't really need any other arguments. At the same time I do not think that less pedophilia on the net actually means less pedophilia in real life - it simply means that the net is better policed.

At the same time, as you can read in the above mentioned Diary, there is just as much of this stuff going on in chat-rooms for teens etc. You can't very well police all those zillion chat-rooms. So I guess it's the usual conundrum between freedom of expression and actions that this represents or implies. Not long ago Canadian supreme court over-turned the conviction of a man arrested for possession of a vast collection of child pornography, all scoured down from the internet. Because, you see, I too could be persecuted under that legislation, because I too am in possession of such reprehensible material - which in my case is not at all indicative of any such secret lust. As usual, the media had a hard time cutting a clear line on this one.

***

As those things go, obscurity is still your best bet for freedom. The internet is steadily losing its more shady aspects, becoming less unruly, less tolerant of the fringe, more in sync with the good-thinking mainstream out there. USA, being the richest and the largest internet-hub in the whole damn world, is constantly pushing heavy legislation to clear the grounds of all the mind-bogling weeds gracing this virtual land.

I don't know what's wrong with me - I love weed, I detest neatly mowed lawns, I prefer wild-strawberry to the over-sized glossy stuff that is sold under that name in the supermarket. I am probably much more of an anarchist than a libertarian, I probably live in the wrong country, I would probably make a terrible legislator, or my community would all switch to wholesale nudism, or I'd found a state within a state within a state...

Does all this make me more tolerant of all the directly harmful stuff out there? Probably does, for some reason. I relish the chance of being able to peruse highly offensive stuff like hate propaganda (Aryan, Nazi, right-wing Jewish, right-wing whatever), unbelievably disgusting pornography which I can't and don't enjoy, dangerously stupid and rabid stuff I accidentally come across in various forums, fatal discussions in some suicide groups, very harmful hacker hide-outs which I don't understand and should fear because I don't understand zilch, and all other such stuff that is violent, offensive, evil and generally bad for me, I know.

I think David Lynch's film Blue Velvet cuts it pretty close. Here's an apercu:
"Blue Velvet" is a stark view of the idyllic world we live in. It opens with an amazing shot of blood red roses against a blue sky and white picket fence. It then cuts to a man watering his beautiful bright green garden (Garden of Eden?) who suffers a stroke and falls to the ground, still clutching his garden hose. An unknowing dog playfully snaps at the spray while a child walks up to the fallen man, unaware of what is happening. The camera next views the man from above and then slowly burrows into the ground, eventually revealing a mass of beetles fighting for food and scrambling to stay alive in the harsh reality of their world. What an amazing metaphor! David Lynch shows us that just beneath the surface of a perfect world lays many dark and hidden secrets. (John's Review)
At the end of the film, Sandy looks at Jeffrey and asks, "Life is strange, isn't it?" — which, depending on how you look at it, is either ironic or a supreme understatement given all that they've been through. But it serves as an anti-climactic coda and really is the key to Blue Velvet — yes, "life is strange," Lynch seems to be saying. Strange and beautiful and violent and roiling with secrets if we dig deep enough to find them. He also seems to suggest that, perhaps, digging for them isn't an especially good idea. (DVD Review)
That last line is precisely my point.


Hikikomori

"Hikikomori", japanese = people who withdraw. A massive phenomenon in today's urban Japan. Quotes from an article about this:
"Hikikomori is not a disease,'' agrees Iwata, "but a social condition.'' Although still relying on medication to help him sleep, Iwata is adamant that his 7-year period of hikikomori was not provoked by illness. "I knew that I was not mentally unwell, and that medical treatment was not what I needed,'' Iwata says, explaining that the eventual cure came not from drugs but from contact with people who believed in him.

Washington Post May 29, 2002:
As many as a million Japanese -- most of them young men -- are considered shut-ins, either literally cloistered in their rooms or refusing to work and avoiding all social contact for periods ranging from six months to more than 10 years.

The Guardian's take:
The government insists that hikikomori is a social phenomenon rather than a disease. But sufferers also often show symptoms of agrophobia, persecution complexes, insomnia, obsessive- compulsive disorders and regressive behaviour. In the domestic media, they are associated with violence because the problem sprang to public attention after a reclusive 17-year-old left his isolation to hijack a bus, killing one passenger before he was overpowered. However, such cases are rare. Hikikomori are more likely to suffer from lethargy or suicidal depression...
Hikikomori, the ultimate in social parasitism.


Session 32: On Retreat in the City: Urban Recluses (Shiin) in Early Modern Japan:
Scholars have long recognized the importance of Buddhist eremitism and the literature produced by recluses (inja) in medieval Japan. Recluse writers such as Saigyô, Kamo no Chômei, and Yoshida Kenkô are well represented in Japanese literary studies, especially for their rejection of sociopolitical values and their desire to transcend society through physical separation from it. Writers and thinkers in the early modern period in Japan also recognized the possibilities raised by medieval Buddhist recluses. However, a crucial distinction between medieval inja and the early modern residents of Kyoto, Osaka, and Edo, is that in many cases the later recluses chose to follow their eremitism while physically remaining in the metropolis as "shiin," or "urban recluses." Furthermore, their reclusion seems to have been inspired as much by Confucian and philosophical Daoist examples as it was to their medieval Buddhist precursors.
While urban reclusion combined with social parasitism, or rejection of society's values, is not a specifically Japanese phenomenon, the radical twist the japanese form exhibits is indeed unique. In view of the Shiin history, this might not be a very modern phenomenon at all. But here again it is easy to see how mere rejection and self-exclusion is nothing but a pale shadow of true hermetism - which is based on strong personal values, not the absence of these. Though some monks (non-japanese) have been known to spend considerable time in an actual coffin they'd carefully build with their very own hands. There are no known reports as to how they fared in it.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Dreams

It is uncanny how good I tend to feel when waking from some really disturbing dreams. Today it was something particularly bizarre (I rarely ever remember my dreams, unfortunately).

[1] I visited a friend I never knew in her decrepit Paris apartment void of all funiture, which was nevertheless situated in a chic Berlin-like neighbourhood where there was a tremendous toy-store reminiscent of the famous one on the 5th Avenue in NYC (all my geography rolled up into one super-city, it seems). I can't remember why I was there. What I remember is that on my way out I saw a head on the floor, freshly cut off from her father apparently - whom I never knew either. After which sight I fled the premises and then spent an inexplicably long time trying to lock the door behind me - in fact, it was so decrepit it fell apart from my efforts, leaving the scene of the crime open for all to enter.

From there I went directly to the chic toy-shop across the street, attracted by its out-of-this century fineries. Then the scene somehow evolved into something of a waste ground, with a big tent in the middle of it - somehow it was supposed to be at the back of the toy-store. There I witnessed a strange activity: dogs were being brought in. Apparently those dogs were used to advertise the toy-store by being wheeled around the city all day long on some sort of a platform pulled by a car. For some reason I found this business revolting. One dog was a terrier puppy and I noticed it had bald spots in his fur. I took it to be neglect and got into an argument with the store employees in the tent, raving about how they mistreat their dogs and how all their show of good care is nothing but a sham. In the end I kidnapped the dog and fled with it thinking all the while: how the hell am I going to adopt this doggy since I already have a cat at home that can't stand dogs?

[2] I am in some place which is supposed to be my appartment (it's not, by a large margin). A man is sitting in the armchair and I know this is actually a holoscan, not a real person. He's perfectly real and bodily in every way and I am thinking - what if I had sex with him, how would a holoscan body feel from inside?


The f word revolution

In a previous post I mentioned a controversy surrounding some college professor persecuted over excessive use of foul language in class.

Now, this case is reminiscent of something I've encountered in an internet forum - where an actual college prof was constantly stirring debate because of his wild talk. Some were appalled by it, others took it easy. Notably, those who took it easy were never on the receiving end of his outbursts, while the appalled types got all the heat. In the campus controversy above, a defender of the said professor mentions that on top of being suspended he's also been forced to undergo therapy. That probably only added insult to injury but I can see how his behavior must have seemed out of hand. Quote from the appalled camp:
Numerous students have reported that you regularly use profane, vulgar or obscene words in class such as 'bullshit,' 'cunt,' 'cock,' 'dick,' 'pussy,' 'tits,' 'balls,' 'asshole,' 'ass,' 'shit,' 'damn,' 'cocksucking,' 'hell,' 'buttfucking' and 'blowjob.' Students report that you do not use these words in an effort to explain a concept being portrayed in an assigned text, but as part of your general vocabulary regardless of whether the language relates in any meaningful way to an assigned text, even to the point of saying in class that Smuckers Jelly was given its name because 'Smuckers' rhymes with 'fuckers' and that the 'Busch' in Busch Beer refers to a vagina.

...Examples of these non-germane digressions include reports that:

* You told your students in class about how your wife once expressed a desire to perform oral sex on her infant son, whose diaper she was changing;
* You told your students in class about how, while performing volunteer work at a hospital, you developed an erection while giving an elderly man a bath and that you dealt with this situation by 'mounting' the man;
* You told your class that you used to masturbate to Playboy-style magazines;
* You told your class a story about how you once threw away your Playboy-style magazines due to something a priest told you during confession and that you began using Biblical passages as your substitute masturbatory stimulus;
* You told your class a story about how you once tried to become an 'urban legend' by putting Vaseline inside a toilet paper roll and attempting to masturbate by placing your 'cock' in the lubricated toilet paper roll, which you tried to connect somehow to a washing machine, but that you failed to accomplish this feat because your 'cock' lost interest;
* You described an incident where your wife 'held your balls' as you were laying naked in bed;...
Ouch. I must admit I would have loved to attend that guy's class but maybe not for more than one semester. It must have been a glorious avant-garde show. However my observations of human psychology indicate that over-indulging in rabelaisian talk is usually a pretty obvious sign of disturbed sexuality. Turning one's obsessions into an art form is hardly a crime, unless people are forced to attend your exhibition - which seems the case here. The forum-guy I mentioned above monopolized an internet forum while he couldn't very well do it in his class. The good thing with attending internet forums is that you're not getting credits for it - so you can always leave when you've had enough. The bad thing with undergraduate education these days is that you can't quite ignore a required course - you're stuck with whatever education is being pushed down your throat. Sometimes it's "Deep Throat 101" - do swallow, dear.

Monday, November 10, 2003

Spy notes

Browsing "people" blogs I am finding incredible predicaments (all quotes are anonymous and out of context; if perchance you recognize yourself just pretend it's not you):
***
You know, I do the same thing. And then I read all those "how to write a blog" articles that say that editing (except for spelling mistakes) is a big hovering no-no. And then I feel bad. But, I will always be someone who is happier with what they've written when they get a pen and paper, write, live with it, edit it, and then, maybe give it to someone to read. The whole blog thing is so damn hard sometimes. But in a good way.

***
I am thinking about talking my semi-domesticated partner into getting a piercing with me, but I dont know if there is a spot on her that she can still pierce.

***
I just looked up the criminal they thought was my hubby on the internet. Hell, he'd already been apprehended. And there was no mention of tattoos, just scars. And the guy looks nothing like my husband. And he's almost 20 years older. Yeah, I check out these things...even though I know him better than almost anyone, you never know, last thing I want are my neighbors on TV saying "And he seemed like such a normal guy." What would that make me? The biggest fool on the planet married to a homosexual killer. Daytime television's full of them.

***
its taken me two hours to make up two paragraphs of crap to turn into english class...(...) AHHH i got my english essay back, the first of the semester and he hated my paper!! "your problem is simple: you have never written a college level essay in either effort or depth" that killed me, i thought my paper was awesome, i even had it reviewed by other students and they liked it ... what the fuck??? whatever, i get to rewrite it...damn fucking old balding retard...

***
i talked to X saturday nite for like 1 1/2 hours.. twas wonderful... made me happy. especially cuz i had just watched a TERRIBLE TERRIBLE movie..
that would be American Beauty.. i hated it... it was really aweful and made me very sad... it was just the perfect example of sin and human wrongness and how stupid/ awful things are without Jesus in your life.. and it just made me so sad to watch it.. the couple hates each other and cheats on each other.. everyone is sleeping around.. this one man is a nazi and beats his son and hates gay people but he actually is gay.. and he was just so sad...... i wanted to cry watching him... it was terrible.. and then he kills someone.. and that was very sad too......bah... lets not think about that movie anymore..
And here's something I genuinely enjoyed:
Two Deconstructionists walk into a bar...
My school is littered with dumbasses who carry around big honking books by Nietzsche and bring them to class, for no other reason to show the rest of us how incredibly deep they are.

Existentialism is an interesting concept, but let's not fool ourselves; not everyone who wears dark clothing and has a strong liking towards words that end in -ism are existentialists. Being widely disliked does not make you an existentialist. Wearing outlandish clothing does not make you an existentialist. Writing blogs with such luminous phrases like I'm sinking into a deep dark world of fear does not make you an existentialist. It does, however, make you a dumbass, so congrats on that.

I don't shit on their right to be stupid - I do take issue on their trying to convince everybody they're deep, enlightened individuals. Any one that considers themselves an intellectual and goes out of their way to say so is not only a fucktard (God, I love that word), but also a whore. That's right, and I'm going to capitalize it and bold it for emphasis: you are all WHORES. Their big books and needlessly long words may as well be purple eyeshadow and pink stockings: we know what we're looking at, and it most certainly isn't a sexy woman.



Incoherent luxuries

A whole lot of newspaper quoting goes on on some of those politico sites. This one sounded largely true although when something is so general, it is too easy to apply it to about any vaguely similar situation, whereby a domestic dispute will equate war in Iraq and vice-versa. But on to the quote (lifted from The Economist, via Insults Unpunished:
One answer to this final question is that incoherence is one of the luxuries of impotence. Those who cannot, or will not, take responsibility themselves feel free to snipe at those who do. Another is that it is natural to feel afraid when dramatic, ambitious actions are being undertaken, for the consequences of such actions can themselves be dramatic.
Indeed indeed... The doer and the thinker, not quite matching there. One great privilege of the publicist is precisely this kind of wanton rhetoric devoid of the constraints of action.

I once read in some learned psychology journal that a person intent on committing suicide has to be in a "reduced" mode of thinking, entirely focused on the deed, oblivious of everything but the line of willful thought that leads to that particular action. Of course, the article implied that such a state of mind is not normal. I must wonder however how that particular thinking is different from any sort of purposeful action - it's not just that you "take responsability" and put aside your fear of such a dramatic and ambitious action when outcome is at best uncertain since you can never be 100% sure you'll make it on the first attempt (hell, people survived jumping from the 22nd floor; I am sure there are some who survived jumping in front of a train etc etc - death is a horribly uncertain business, just like war - "dramatic", you bet); decisive action takes resolve, focusing your will, being willful, being temporally unthinking - temporally insane, as a matter of fact. In the sense that you deny yourself the mental space to ponder the pro and contra.

Pondering, being balanced, judicious, reflective - all this occurs before you get into action mode. Once you're there you're acting according to whatever line of conduct you've decided upon in your preliminary thinking. If it was all screwed up from the beginning, your action will make it particularly clear - to yourself. Of course, once people engage on some deed it's very hard afterwards to recognize defeat or a bad situation. Then you just deal with the consequences, the unpredictable consequences of a badly planned action, or bad luck - that happens too.

There is always a good reason to criticize any action on some point or other - action is so narrow-minded by nature that it's almost impossible not to find fault with it in some way. And of course the one who has not stooped down to doing but has remained "above the fray", in a purely meditative detached mode, will naturally find it hard to imagine how/why on earth the doer has chosen such a narrow path among so many better ones available to the pondering mind. And that is the problem of responsability - that you actually take responsability for those necessary limitations you are going to go through and not for any greater cause or truth. The publicist shall always supersede the soldier not through superior intelligence but through freedom of thought, as opposed to the constraint of action. Which of these - action or inaction - is a greater insanity regarding human reality, is not at all easy to decide.

The catchy phrase cited above is actually a platitude - or an ancient conundrum. Doers invariably find themselves at odds with their own broad thinking, because thinking generally does not fit into action. That simple - that puzzling. So next time I want to accuse a suicide of insanity or a publicist of dishonesty, I will need to rephrase this to something like: "inability to imagine narrow-mindedness and what sort of mind-reduction it takes to act". Indeed indeed...


Mozilla Opera mama mia

What do I do now? This is crazy. I've been quietly sitting on my lean mean old Opera 6.x, getting occasional crashes, CSS style mix-ups, and other ennoying stuff I got so used to I don't even get angry anymore. And now everybody is buzzing about that Mozilla thing, and I am having doubts. They say it's light weight - then i go to their page and i see why it's light weight: all the features you'd care for are in add-on mode, so I suppose by the time you've downloaded everything you really-really need (like Java for instance, or email client) it will bloat to something terrible. What they advertise as "unique features" have always been there with Opera in any case (pop-up blocking, tabbed browsing , find-as-you-type etc) so I am not impressed. But extensions are really interesting - like i could get that RSS reader (I am obsessed, I know) then and there. But then I hear it doesn't have the very valuable to me images-on/off button and with my modem connection this is a must-have. Ok, let's listen to those darn geeks...

1. The guy at Uncertain Principles is clearly an Opera fanatic (it's like those Unix/Linux fanatics, it's a raving desease): Sure, you've heard the buzz, and read people singing the praises of Mozilla Firebird. But think carefully before you consider switching. Consider the sorry tale Jim Henley [highclearing.com], who announced a switch from Opera to Mozilla, and promptly vanished.

2. Directly found two bloggers complaining about faulty CSS display. I guess this is the same story as it's been with Opera - though they've fixed it since but I didn't want to upgrade to the heavy new version. Mozilla is going through the same beta routine.

3. I wonder how Mozilla fares regarding multilingual display, it took Opera a while before they got around to implement it for real.

4. ...here I interrupt my broadcoast because while searching for Mozilla/Opera controversy I hit a gold-mine of info re RSS and I just can't not find out immediately and right now how this fucker works!!! ...

[Design. Incidentally, I am also noticing that plain white background looks just great in daytime, but at night it really kills my eyes - too bad, it's really the best option there is all things considered...]

I guess I won't switch to Mozilla unless I discover something terrifically convincing from a long-time Opera user who shares my low-tech priorities. That would be a rarity...



The Dude abides

Famous quip from The Big Lebowski hilarious flic. Was trying to find a free mp3 download (man, am i out of touch with the underground these days!) and of course found nothing at all except this cool quip in the name of some dead ftp site.. Such a pleasant surprise amongst all the frustration. Poked around on the net and it looks like there is a massive fan-club for that movie out there. At least plenty of fan sites and the complete film script available for worship. I had no idea it was such a big deal but the movie is sure worth a nice little cult following. Comic relief directly from a Lebowski random-quote-generator:
"What do you do for recreation?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Bowl, drive around, the occasional acid flashback."
Somehow this "Dude attitude" epos really takes away all your worries, especially if you've been reading too much Iraq-related politico hype, and then you light up your vcr, and you get that lovely 1991 echo - which is basically a kick in the balls to all the self-importance of the little guy in the street getting all worked up about world politics. Dude, they don't listen to you, relax dudolino, get down to your bowling alley and stop messing up your blood pressure. I suppose you can't make that sort of movies anymore, not after 9/11, but this one endures and for a reason - the numbers are all right, albeit kabbalistically rearranged for added mystery: 1-99-1. One more, really too good to pass:
"What're you saying? When you divorce you turn in your library card, you get a new license, you stop being Jewish!!?"



When you're strange

I am getting distracted by too much blogosphere exploration. I guess this is a natural phase for anyone new to this whole thing. For instance, I am starting to realize that there is indeed a number of communities out there where people sort of know each other and even meet off-line at something like mini blogger-conventions. I know LiveJournal is/was big on that sort of thing (hey, they don't even sign-up people unless you're referred by an existing member) but blogworld is a much wider phenomenon and there is probably more stuff going on in here that I am able to suspect at the moment. So far I've been running into politico communities, maybe because this is largely US blogs and i see what first meets the eye, but i am pretty sure there is more to blogworld than just politics and geek stuff.

I am yet to spot something that really resonates with my own obscure type, but this is how it is with me most of the time in all sorts of places - I guess this one is not really different, still the same demographics so to speak. It's still pretty exciting to run into a world of open-source strangeness but, like with everything else, something familiar would be nice too once in a while. Will keep looking...

Another thing - it would really be nice to stay new to this world as long as possible. When I get to know things too well I tend to flee as is becomes too constricting and there's much less hope of ever discovering whatever I am always hoping I would finally find out there somewhere. Maybe it's a chronic condition with me, and just in case it is I'd better check myself before I wander away from that wonderful garden of novelty.

N.B. Perhaps it's time I payed my bills... (talk about being distracted) :-0

Sunday, November 09, 2003



I've been wondering why the hell I write such long posts in here. I know why - because it's such a drag turning on the computer, waiting for it to start, waiting for the internet connection to kick in, starting up software and waiting for it to settle in (while the hd goes grrrr-grrr-roarrrr)... Geez, this whole process takes something like 10-15 minutes (ok, my puter is old and grumpy but it still works for some reason) and by the time i'm there and can type my blog-post all my ideas are somehow gone and i have to work myself up to a sensible output. So when i finally get into gear and start typing I really-really take my time and I really-really can't dispense with just a line or two and be gone. No way. After all the mental and physical effort, i'd rather enjoy some major writing, i'd type in a whole novel if i could dream one up - just because it's not worth it even starting the machine otherwise.

Sheesh, paper is better, yes, much better, but then it can't be publish or if it can, then it's an even bigger effort and viewed from that side the effort is not worth the writing. So I guess machine-blogging is still a better compromise - between futility or words and machine waste.





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