new
this almost seems too easy. this has been one of the main themes of my work : proliferation of information and communication: an inverse relation between this and meaning, content, connection. what an ego-feeding model, perhaps, the everyone's thoughts spilled out for all to see any day any where.
on the other - new models of prolifity of thought exchange: the happy side of the coin. rapid circulation of m[i/e]metics.
aside: i bought it earlier today but already it tastes strangely like dishsoap. back to the bad hand? wait good hand. Popularity: are there ratings here? do interesting writers attain reknown, as analyzed by reviews and ratings? The poor writers consigned only to be browsed by friends and errant googlers.
also comfort in the idea that there's someone there to understand. those of us up at night, our significant long asleep, feeling as alone as they ever have. the hope that a sympathetic.
has anyone ever felt as alone as someone living pre-industrial revolution? this is silly. the idea is like theorizing of someone sitting there in the medieval ages thinking about how they will never have a Kit Kat.
communication technologies have heightened our awarenesses of distance, and time, and meaning of those.
prolixity? I should have been in bed hours ago. I have crits tomorrow, and work to do. Why do I stay up beyond all standards of time? what do I hope to gain? [later: use of "I" and f. sausseure]
it's addictive. late night radio is addictive.
that bit in the movie, right before they introduce the aliens moving in: that moment when it zooms out of the main character, lone light on, listening to radio and reading, maybe, or drawing, and it zooms through the roof and shows the whole city and the radio is quietly tiny and nostalgic and attractive and has that whole object-ness, and then you see the whole world and that split second of private space in frightening wholeness that moment UNTIL the alien spaceship shows up and it's all downhill from here.
what kid never made time for himself when his parents weren't out or were in bed, to explore his autonomies?
on the other - new models of prolifity of thought exchange: the happy side of the coin. rapid circulation of m[i/e]metics.
aside: i bought it earlier today but already it tastes strangely like dishsoap. back to the bad hand? wait good hand. Popularity: are there ratings here? do interesting writers attain reknown, as analyzed by reviews and ratings? The poor writers consigned only to be browsed by friends and errant googlers.
also comfort in the idea that there's someone there to understand. those of us up at night, our significant long asleep, feeling as alone as they ever have. the hope that a sympathetic.
has anyone ever felt as alone as someone living pre-industrial revolution? this is silly. the idea is like theorizing of someone sitting there in the medieval ages thinking about how they will never have a Kit Kat.
communication technologies have heightened our awarenesses of distance, and time, and meaning of those.
prolixity? I should have been in bed hours ago. I have crits tomorrow, and work to do. Why do I stay up beyond all standards of time? what do I hope to gain? [later: use of "I" and f. sausseure]
it's addictive. late night radio is addictive.
that bit in the movie, right before they introduce the aliens moving in: that moment when it zooms out of the main character, lone light on, listening to radio and reading, maybe, or drawing, and it zooms through the roof and shows the whole city and the radio is quietly tiny and nostalgic and attractive and has that whole object-ness, and then you see the whole world and that split second of private space in frightening wholeness that moment UNTIL the alien spaceship shows up and it's all downhill from here.
what kid never made time for himself when his parents weren't out or were in bed, to explore his autonomies?