cars & trucks, mostly, but the trains and ships are pretty sweet. the airplanes are more of a bother. it’s nearly 3. i know. are we going somewhere. perhaps. we are an internet addict, are we not. do you even really believe in the concept of addiction any more? not really. then why do you say that? i dunno. to waste time and distract you from the real life things that you’d talk to me about otherwise. oh. nice.
on the temporal nature of written communications.
a handwritten page mailed by the u.s. postal service, or snail-mail, i have been told, is un-ignorable. that is about as personal as you can get, linguistically. artistically. ok, they’re a work of art. you can’t hyperlink them, though. nor can you quote them in reply. you can easily create tables & draw charts, if you think to do so. if your inner lazer-printer is functioning properly. there is also a security against copying, of sorts. physical impression of writing implements, smudges. validity, i suppose. usage? speaking to one person. one person without a computer. one person who prefers to not read words written on a computer. you still communicate with one so prejudiced to type of communication? sometimes, you must.
a typed page is a legal document. this is how you kick the legal system in the keyster or hear from impersonal agencies or businesses that consider you a number. a, potential customer. these are generalizations. there’s no reason a typed page couldn’t be the most heartfelt piece of prose ever written. what about a physically disabled person who can only communicate via computer interface? WHAT ABOUT A PERSON WHO’S TOO POOR TO HAVE A MAILING ADDRESS ahahahahah i’m getting ahead of myself, but there can’t be that many of us. how would anyone counting even know how many there were? the government may not know, but the government barely matters. businesses know. the data is present, because even without an address, we consume consumables. you’re generalizing again, you have no way of knowing how many of us are completely off-the-grid. fair enough.
electronic mail started, at least for me, as what text and instant messenger once were. immediate written conversations. short question, short reply. they retain this form. now e-mail is just for when you don’t want someone to know you’re contacting them. ha, none of these forms of communication allow that old gem call when you know someone isn’t home and leave a message on their answering machine. those cursory, fake communications are awful anyway. if you don’t want to contact me, don’t. don’t waste our time pretending that you give a shit about anything that i care about. don’t editorialize my campaign and tell me you’re a supporter. check the first box on the questionnaire if that’s appropriate. it’s the mom/dad/sister option. it says FUCK OFF FOREVER I CANNOT ALLOW MYSELF TO BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE ANYTHING BUT A MONSTER.
you really hate your family, don’t you. no, i quite pity them, as i do most humans. pathetic sniveling idiots complaining about things over which they would have full control, if only they would care. YES, IT IS THAT EASY
>how are you going to reply to all these questions?
one at a time.
6:46. g.z. brb.
we should get our band together for practice. on the street? probably. old timey grind hop? oh no, mashing gentres again. genres. gone, res. i’m going to need some brass band pretty soon. bike dancing this evening, or hoofin it. yeah probably. nice.
are we going to finish this entry? yeah, i suppose.
now, you can reasonably assume that most people have high speed internet at home. that is, if they have a home, or a job, or enough cash to pay rents & attain phone service. i despise that my communications records go through other people. those very people refuse to participate in the entity which would preclude their needing to have a personal account with the bank/phone-company anyway. we have a team of lawyers. WE ARE A TEAM OF LEGAL REALITIES. nobody who doesn’t already agree with you has any clue what that means. that’s not true. stop making assumptions for and about people who might want to support you. i can only look at what they do in real life. the other homeless seem to not want me to die, but the rest of them? death would free them to speak about me, rather than the current incantation of tyler the retardo-dictator, the elephant in the room. the room itself. the belly of the beast.
give fucks, if only because prostitution is prohibitioned just like all the other health & wealth redistributions. oh, is that it? i have no idea. i have ideas. they’re all here. the gang.
everyone has the power to make my phone buzz, but no1 does.
peace, love, music,
p.s. found it in da trash