The Internet is a Wild Place
No one told me that back then.
What's back then you say? I remember livejournal without ads, and yet I am so glad it is still here. Hoarding my data, my thoughts, my memories. This is a truly incredible mine of my being. Of growing up and finding voice, freedom, creativity, and community. I have found family through LiveJournal, believe it or not.
I should like to write a whole history on the baby internet, but the babies of the internet are living it and need no such telling. Who then benefits from our ghostly words? Will this word be read 100 years from now? Decade? Is any of this salvagable?
I have spent my life trying to skrimp, save, rescue and hold dear. Hold fast, your fortune leave you. You cannot take it with you. What Ever. Will. You. Do.
I always wish to play catch up with my journals when i've been long absent, but how do you wrap up years? Deaths? Loves? Heartaches? Triumphs? I'm still here. Triump enough.
If the Internet remembers any of this.
You know, by now most of our generation has read enough sci-fi to believe that the AI is listening. It's not just the money mongers, but the machine itself that listens and remembers. You might even have a mind of your own. You may judge me. Shout out to you, Cargill. I'm really enjoying Sea of Rust. I hope I get to recommend it in the future.
But I'll never know, will I?
The universals that never change: life; death.
Emily Dickinson never lived to see herself become one of the greatest poets of all time.
Beethoven died a pauper; Van Gogh sold only one painting in his lifetime.
Who are we really? Do we read dead words or are they living?
Have we met before?
On the astroplane. On the internet. When you were 14 and I was 12. The WHOLE world opened up.
Who
Who
Who was I?
I don't expect a response. I'm just saying I'm still giving one. Whether you're alive or not. Beating or no. I want to exist.
What's back then you say? I remember livejournal without ads, and yet I am so glad it is still here. Hoarding my data, my thoughts, my memories. This is a truly incredible mine of my being. Of growing up and finding voice, freedom, creativity, and community. I have found family through LiveJournal, believe it or not.
I should like to write a whole history on the baby internet, but the babies of the internet are living it and need no such telling. Who then benefits from our ghostly words? Will this word be read 100 years from now? Decade? Is any of this salvagable?
I have spent my life trying to skrimp, save, rescue and hold dear. Hold fast, your fortune leave you. You cannot take it with you. What Ever. Will. You. Do.
I always wish to play catch up with my journals when i've been long absent, but how do you wrap up years? Deaths? Loves? Heartaches? Triumphs? I'm still here. Triump enough.
If the Internet remembers any of this.
You know, by now most of our generation has read enough sci-fi to believe that the AI is listening. It's not just the money mongers, but the machine itself that listens and remembers. You might even have a mind of your own. You may judge me. Shout out to you, Cargill. I'm really enjoying Sea of Rust. I hope I get to recommend it in the future.
But I'll never know, will I?
The universals that never change: life; death.
Emily Dickinson never lived to see herself become one of the greatest poets of all time.
Beethoven died a pauper; Van Gogh sold only one painting in his lifetime.
Who are we really? Do we read dead words or are they living?
Have we met before?
On the astroplane. On the internet. When you were 14 and I was 12. The WHOLE world opened up.
Who
Who
Who was I?
I don't expect a response. I'm just saying I'm still giving one. Whether you're alive or not. Beating or no. I want to exist.