The internet is a black hole. Matter and anti-matter swirl all around you, coalescing in a spiral. Fibres catch in your hair and on your clothing. Bits clamber over your entire body, like lice. Nothing is remembered. The persona migrates forward, into a thousand pixels shifting from one colour to another, endlessly. This momentum, as the user blankly clicks between web-pages in a motion that is quick, unthinking, and reptilian, is itself a kind of thought process. Whole thoughts form out of nothingness, arranging themselves in columns, only to be destroyed again in an instant… like the mind, important thoughts are kept on tab, and the phantom persona switches between them frequently, in order of importance.

Life is visual. As it once was. The cerebrum retracts, awaiting the next stage in human development (backwards or forwards) where, perhaps, thoughts of a higher order will be required again…


Oh, Oh


You probably shouldn’t expect updates here very often. I have to finish the first draft of my novel (for the program I am in) in a month. But for some reason I feel like I should note the fact that we now have wireless internet (one this computer can easily and comfortably connect) might result in some future flood of content…

This is the machine I make everything on. It is used for writing, scanning, photoshop, digital photography… and before now everything had to be ferried back and forth mind-numbingly frequently on USB keys, especially if something, somewhere along the line, had gone wrong. Lisa’s computer is fast to turn on but the keyboard requires the hand-size of a pigeon to operate. It’s miniscule screen could fit on a cracker, and there would still be enough room for a sizeable gherkin to place alongside it. Complicated java and flash seems to confound it, and navigating wordpress (or photobucket) required a frustrating amount of duct-tape and hope. In short, it is now a far, far better world for the internet, my friends.

I have yet to determine whether or not this is a good thing. Internet and me go way back. Too far. If I died today the autopsy would reveal that my central cortex was choked with the sound of “Gmail notifier” and browser cookies. I spend too much time on the computer already.