A couple mornings ago I noticed an .mpg all conspicuous-like on my server; it was uploaded by Dan, who shares this space, and how precious the weirdness that waited upon discovery of the Scar Strangled Banter (the film has been moved to another server—see news item above). The bizarre brainchild of Brandon Marback, SSB combines the disturbing imagery of dated government propaganda footage with the disturbing imagery of… updated… government… propaganda… footage. Watch it, because you can be sure it’s watching you.
New wormwood photos from February 19 are here and archimago has a new splash, taken at Christopher Lawrence in Fargo, February 20. I got a fair amount of other CL revelry shots but nothing worth archiving. S’disappointing (though the show was great, of course). Tried a few of the man himself but guy would stop and upright himself and look at me and smile! Argh! Don’t pose! Get busy! but the noise was too noisy to give directions, like I really would’ve bother-dared. Oh well.
And now the bittersweet…
When I moved into my current place last September, I debated where to hook up. Do I put my computer in my bedroom as I’ve done since forever, or do I try—just once—to work in a community space to encourage housemate interaction, sunlight and perspective, facing not a wall but a wide open room without doors to close or words to hide? I chose the latter. And nothing’s happening, all I find are distractions… but it’s not because I can’t shut myself in, it’s because of the internet. I tried the sabbatical last November—IM was eliminated and general browsing was reduced, but I was still lining in, it was always there and tempting, pusher and drug fixing for the next fall. Enough’s enough—I’m pulling the plug and trying something new? no, returning to the ancient. Retreating to the cave. Routine. Self. Wreckluse in my bedroom.
Those who have my number are free to call but don’t be surprised or offended if I’m never game. I’ll check my email at work and respond but likely briefly. Perhaps once a week I’ll hook up for more extensive digital maintenance, but I’ll still make it minimal. And maybe this discipline, this desire to change will be a miserable failure. But in honesty I’m failing me right now. I realize this abstinence coincides with lent—a coincidence, yes, but I don’t feel myself far removed from far removed. When you write, when you structure your life around building other worlds… then suddenly stop. Long-time realize years have passed all the while driven mad by inactivity, by the thought of living leaving quietly, backseat sleeping gone this blindness neverminding the passion pleasure pain of making when you cease to create… you lose the touch of god. And that means a lot when you once believed, were taken, trusted fully and not in faith, not in the muses to pull you through another no-aim neighborhood, but in your own ability to do whatever you need and want, and then doing it—and that hurts. It’s hell. I lost my best friend and make the decision to feel bad about it every single day but never search for another. Never attempt to relive the memories or relieve the ache I choose to decide but change my mind and doubt everything I’ve done stalling everything I might do. This is not a crisis; my half-life happened at twelve. And that scares me. So I’m cutting off for awhile for as long as I need to, disconnecting from the world outside which is really not the world outside at all. CNN is entertainment. Salon.com is noise. I’ll miss things like this. I’ll miss my latenight meaningfullessness instant message madness, rapidfire email, livestream swimming and messageboredem. But too long I’ve been traveling the information superhighway when I must find the desert.
Maybe I’ll start another novel. Scribble lyrical liter(aric)al reams of only the deepest sickest fakest. Dance and read and do t’ai chi, put off sleep and forget to eat, anything hope everything pray but lie on the hardwood curled and wait for life to happen to me.
Goodbye, cruel worldwideweb. Goodbye.