the first of, possibly 2 public service announcements
all comments to this journal are now screened. It's very unlikely that I will ever unscreen any comment to any entry.
When I first made this thing, back when dawnchylde and tanimaara first showed me the emergence of it's promise. I'd thought to make a place where I could compare thoughts of mine against eachother. A Journal. A place to see the progression of my mind's most esoteric edges, be they on the same side of the "wierdness see-saw" or "plate of equatability" and compare it's new itirations against the quiviring knife of moments ago (etherical moments or real).
But time moved on. And I left comments open. At the start, they were ok, but only did moments emerge where people commented for the consumption of all. Time has passed. I don't think there's a chance in any level of any comparitive work to dante's that any of the original cast of players are around to possibly comment in a forum protected to be only between them and I. But it might be true. Truly a way, a way to present to anyone of this, nau, barren blog-scape, to ressurect the possibility of this forum like bloging idiocy.
If not, I have *many* deadjournals. Some of which I still actually remember the passwords to and update with infrequent screams that are directed to the base pedestal that idea that I'd laid for their groundwork... and somtimes, infact more than *sometimes*, I'm a blithering idiot and post what should be there, here.
There lies the true idiocy. I've a place for everything that appears here. Yet sometimes I don't post there, but here. It's the 8 year dead dream of what once I thought to bring to pass here, periodically resurrectd with my metalhead's headbanging persistance to beat my head aginst the wall like *****chika in the r.a.salvatore. novel that did that thing to stone***** and have what I've always wanted to be real, real. so imatoolfreak's last moment intellecutal ponderings before he graduated gave me hope that a mind might survive the apex of it's schooling learning and become something like i'd dreamed my highschool companions would have followed into. So azrael's and my idea of deep thought expounded joined by my childhood fellow philosipher/ponderer ridgewalker didn't really come to pass. that was the dream of electronically expounding what, aparently, took face to face contact to build the fires that build instead of destroy.
But, ...what inspires a new post? No friend of mine, the ones I wish to have seen what hasnt' come, they're long gone. It, also, seems that communities, of whatever, post too much to see what happens in. What once was, the, now, left over friends of my core. The things that make more of my next moment than all, these seconds of half-validation, they're my lj avatars. That's fucking SAD. I still wish for what I once drempt, half hazzard and unkepmpt though my dreams and (thus my life and inspiring the random collision of true inspiriations I can't control, (those things gestating the spark of all creativity) the life of what it brought... limited or extended as each moment was sentenced, unforgivabably so, at it's inception.
the victim now betrays.
When I first made this thing, back when dawnchylde and tanimaara first showed me the emergence of it's promise. I'd thought to make a place where I could compare thoughts of mine against eachother. A Journal. A place to see the progression of my mind's most esoteric edges, be they on the same side of the "wierdness see-saw" or "plate of equatability" and compare it's new itirations against the quiviring knife of moments ago (etherical moments or real).
But time moved on. And I left comments open. At the start, they were ok, but only did moments emerge where people commented for the consumption of all. Time has passed. I don't think there's a chance in any level of any comparitive work to dante's that any of the original cast of players are around to possibly comment in a forum protected to be only between them and I. But it might be true. Truly a way, a way to present to anyone of this, nau, barren blog-scape, to ressurect the possibility of this forum like bloging idiocy.
If not, I have *many* deadjournals. Some of which I still actually remember the passwords to and update with infrequent screams that are directed to the base pedestal that idea that I'd laid for their groundwork... and somtimes, infact more than *sometimes*, I'm a blithering idiot and post what should be there, here.
There lies the true idiocy. I've a place for everything that appears here. Yet sometimes I don't post there, but here. It's the 8 year dead dream of what once I thought to bring to pass here, periodically resurrectd with my metalhead's headbanging persistance to beat my head aginst the wall like *****chika in the r.a.salvatore. novel that did that thing to stone***** and have what I've always wanted to be real, real. so imatoolfreak's last moment intellecutal ponderings before he graduated gave me hope that a mind might survive the apex of it's schooling learning and become something like i'd dreamed my highschool companions would have followed into. So azrael's and my idea of deep thought expounded joined by my childhood fellow philosipher/ponderer ridgewalker didn't really come to pass. that was the dream of electronically expounding what, aparently, took face to face contact to build the fires that build instead of destroy.
But, ...what inspires a new post? No friend of mine, the ones I wish to have seen what hasnt' come, they're long gone. It, also, seems that communities, of whatever, post too much to see what happens in. What once was, the, now, left over friends of my core. The things that make more of my next moment than all, these seconds of half-validation, they're my lj avatars. That's fucking SAD. I still wish for what I once drempt, half hazzard and unkepmpt though my dreams and (thus my life and inspiring the random collision of true inspiriations I can't control, (those things gestating the spark of all creativity) the life of what it brought... limited or extended as each moment was sentenced, unforgivabably so, at it's inception.
the victim now betrays.