"I wasn't even supposed to BE here today."
I feel like I need to get my Livejournal bearings. I have been so holed up lately - renovating the apartment, still sleeping longer than I should, and insatiably Jenning - that I forgot there are people outside the three on speed dial, two of them being my mother. I called Jarek for his birthday and realized what a dropoff I've been.
I could vow to read my friends' page more often, or to record a running tally of minutiae, but I gotta be honest. Instead I will spend five hours lying on the couch in wait for Jenn. I will play Los Sims and make my characters limpiar their stall showers repeatedly (the never-ending possibility is probably a glitch, but I like to think it's an added touch of cynical realism). I will very neatly organize a zen arrangement of dirty dishes, balacing them on anything but a dishcloth or soap. I will plaster a slight imperfection in the living room wall. I will rinse each of the forty-five filters on my SuperMegaSpoiledMyself vacuum cleaner. But who has time to Livejournal? God, I'm like, so overextended. Who knows how many times I'll have to freshen the high-pile carpet today!
I'm really starting to get that itch to move. I've lived here for barely two years. I like it here a lot, but I'm stagnat ing? no, ed. It's not even in progress. It's a done deal. I've stagnated.
Last night in a fit against banality I admonished my life for never including the keeping of bees.
That sentence is a syntactic representation of everything that's been wrong with my life for so many years. I mean, could you stand it? For lacking the keeping of bees. For omitting beekeeping. For never having kept bees. Or not to have been. Binary branching transformational honey fuckin crucial-ass bees. I am so forward-speaking that I don't even pronounce the apostrophes of omission. Look'ye there. Sometimes I don't even write. I just push buttons and a machine does it for me.
Robots. There's a documentary you should watch alone in the dark while zoning out, and it is called Fast Cheap & Out of Control. Maybe it's not all that incredible but my tiny no-no-technology brain said that indeed it was not credible. The whole film is more interesting than what I can focus on (it involves a topiary gardener, circus trainer, and naked mole rat scientist), but for now: ROBOTS. A guy came on the screen and the screen dubbed his bald head with some sort of official title and he started to lisp his excitement out and I thought well I've had the same cell phone for six years I don't drive a car little kids' handheld gaming devices startle me and I don't even use the low technicality of punctuation sometimes so we'll see how long I can listen to him because when can I see the other guy pare a tree into a partridge?
But he had stories from the future to tell us that didn't feature Dr. Robotnik's triumphant chortle resounding through a Steven Hawking hole in all the dimensions you can't fathom. ["Robots" seem so far removed from the humanities. That's what engineering kids do. That's what lisping fanatics do on weird films.]; [Machines and technology seem so far removed from humanity. Just the word 'machine' and the word 'technology' sound stainless and sharp and smell staticky and a little like new plastic and are cold and sleek and so many other things that completely oppose the characteristics of being alive.] The way he explained the development of robot technology exactly mirrored the evolutionary development of "life," the new necessity of quotation marks being the mind-blowing part. As they built machines that could perform more tasks, they took the shape of animals - without intentionally mimicking nature at all, the necessary pragmatic physics of it required six support beams and central information systems and all kinds of other overtly animal characteristics. To create machines that perform complex tasks, the machines must be amalgamations of tinier, simpler, specified machines. Piling so many together formed so many interactions that some sort of emergent existence began...can you imagine? Can you think of yourself as some unnameable energetic product of a million different tiny machines? To hear something like that in the introductory chapter of a biology textbook is one thing, with 'energetic product' being called life and 'tiny machines' being called molecules or processes. Those terms make everything seem so specific and familiar and tailored to us, as though our 'life' form is a hypernym rather than a subset of energy as a holistic entity, as though our molecules and processes are separate from tiny machines...not even to say you are a robot, but to say that robots are primitive you...
Well, it blew MY mind. I felt like I should start going to robot pride parades to pre-emptively protect them against inevitable misunderstanding and prejudice. Like. - Oh. - My. - God. - Did. - You. - Go. - To. - D. - C. - It. - Was. - So. - Progressive. - There. - Were. - Techanics. - And. - Transconductors.
We. - Are. - Getting. - So. - Far. - From. - Those. - Antiquated. - Misrepresentations. - Of. - Us.
I. - Collect. - Vintage. - Robotic. - Attack. - Media.
We. - Are. - So. - Post-Firewall.
I could vow to read my friends' page more often, or to record a running tally of minutiae, but I gotta be honest. Instead I will spend five hours lying on the couch in wait for Jenn. I will play Los Sims and make my characters limpiar their stall showers repeatedly (the never-ending possibility is probably a glitch, but I like to think it's an added touch of cynical realism). I will very neatly organize a zen arrangement of dirty dishes, balacing them on anything but a dishcloth or soap. I will plaster a slight imperfection in the living room wall. I will rinse each of the forty-five filters on my SuperMegaSpoiledMyself vacuum cleaner. But who has time to Livejournal? God, I'm like, so overextended. Who knows how many times I'll have to freshen the high-pile carpet today!
I'm really starting to get that itch to move. I've lived here for barely two years. I like it here a lot, but I'm stagnat ing? no, ed. It's not even in progress. It's a done deal. I've stagnated.
Last night in a fit against banality I admonished my life for never including the keeping of bees.
That sentence is a syntactic representation of everything that's been wrong with my life for so many years. I mean, could you stand it? For lacking the keeping of bees. For omitting beekeeping. For never having kept bees. Or not to have been. Binary branching transformational honey fuckin crucial-ass bees. I am so forward-speaking that I don't even pronounce the apostrophes of omission. Look'ye there. Sometimes I don't even write. I just push buttons and a machine does it for me.
Robots. There's a documentary you should watch alone in the dark while zoning out, and it is called Fast Cheap & Out of Control. Maybe it's not all that incredible but my tiny no-no-technology brain said that indeed it was not credible. The whole film is more interesting than what I can focus on (it involves a topiary gardener, circus trainer, and naked mole rat scientist), but for now: ROBOTS. A guy came on the screen and the screen dubbed his bald head with some sort of official title and he started to lisp his excitement out and I thought well I've had the same cell phone for six years I don't drive a car little kids' handheld gaming devices startle me and I don't even use the low technicality of punctuation sometimes so we'll see how long I can listen to him because when can I see the other guy pare a tree into a partridge?
But he had stories from the future to tell us that didn't feature Dr. Robotnik's triumphant chortle resounding through a Steven Hawking hole in all the dimensions you can't fathom. ["Robots" seem so far removed from the humanities. That's what engineering kids do. That's what lisping fanatics do on weird films.]; [Machines and technology seem so far removed from humanity. Just the word 'machine' and the word 'technology' sound stainless and sharp and smell staticky and a little like new plastic and are cold and sleek and so many other things that completely oppose the characteristics of being alive.] The way he explained the development of robot technology exactly mirrored the evolutionary development of "life," the new necessity of quotation marks being the mind-blowing part. As they built machines that could perform more tasks, they took the shape of animals - without intentionally mimicking nature at all, the necessary pragmatic physics of it required six support beams and central information systems and all kinds of other overtly animal characteristics. To create machines that perform complex tasks, the machines must be amalgamations of tinier, simpler, specified machines. Piling so many together formed so many interactions that some sort of emergent existence began...can you imagine? Can you think of yourself as some unnameable energetic product of a million different tiny machines? To hear something like that in the introductory chapter of a biology textbook is one thing, with 'energetic product' being called life and 'tiny machines' being called molecules or processes. Those terms make everything seem so specific and familiar and tailored to us, as though our 'life' form is a hypernym rather than a subset of energy as a holistic entity, as though our molecules and processes are separate from tiny machines...not even to say you are a robot, but to say that robots are primitive you...
Well, it blew MY mind. I felt like I should start going to robot pride parades to pre-emptively protect them against inevitable misunderstanding and prejudice. Like. - Oh. - My. - God. - Did. - You. - Go. - To. - D. - C. - It. - Was. - So. - Progressive. - There. - Were. - Techanics. - And. - Transconductors.
We. - Are. - Getting. - So. - Far. - From. - Those. - Antiquated. - Misrepresentations. - Of. - Us.
I. - Collect. - Vintage. - Robotic. - Attack. - Media.
We. - Are. - So. - Post-Firewall.