Created by those who gazed into the #netnarr Net Mirror...
What century is this? The coffee shop usually has modern music on but it's stuck inside some lame 1980s mode... Toto? Sigh, the caffeine is just not kicking in. And I am stuck. Because I cannot think of anything really good to get in my weekly blog post. It sounds like... puff words. Take a break. Now. Instagram. Swipe. Swipe. Like. Like. Skip ads. Like. Like. What a minute, what is in my notifications? No one messages me here.
Put your hand down. You do not need to grab for your phone. What is your intention? What are you really paying attention to? Time for a walk in the woods.
It was time to decompress, which often times means forgetting about her. But how could I erase her from my mind? This is what you get when you become addicted to something.
Shaking my head, feeling the waning effect of the legal drug they call coffee, I return to the looming work ahead of me. What will it take to pull this mid-term paper out of my frazzled brain? Brain. Yes, psychology. I need some more references that follow up n Heider's Attribution Theory. Off to Google Scholar. But wait, left open in my browser is a search for used guitars, Maybe one more page of results will find that Martin... Woah, why am I seeing ads for addiction support? How does Google get its information?
I glance around. Am I being observed? Is that a camera up in the ceiling? Is it the wireless network?
It's dusty up there, no way to tell. Wireless reception always goes down during icy raindrop days.
I ran my fingers along the broken vein of glass, the place where the Web finally shattered. Maybe it was time. Time to build something anew.
I am wondering if I am starting a new story or ending an old one. But isn't all of life a bunch a false starts and restarts when it comes down to it? I walk out into my sunny Friday afternoon day with buzzing and dings, alerts and notifications emanating from my pocket. How long can I resist the pull of the device? It is a force to be reckoned with. But alas, I do have some power.
But alas, the red percentage warning on my device is warning of a missing kind of power. Can one have power over devices that lose their battery power? "You're down to 12 minutes of battery life" speaks only a slightly robotic voice from the device. The voice, affirmative and steady, also sounds like a consternating aunt, a tinge of disapproval. I don't remember activating the voice interface. "Changing your settings will cost you 95.2 seconds" notes Aunty. She's right, damnit. What will I do if I cannot check the online bus schedule? "You need some electric?" asks yet another voice, this a bearded old man seated against the wall. "I can loan a wee bit of charge..."
Did I ask you for jumper cables Sir? No. And giving me your cell phone charger wouldn't amount to "lending me a charge." Energy can neither be created or destroyed. Didn't you read about Thomas Edison and his pals? Ugh, forget this, I need a vacation to Hawaii, but it's such a long plane ride....
... so I guess Florida will have to do. Maybe even Cozumel would be nice, but at that point, I might as well go to Hawaii! Maybe I'll bring my #netnar peers with me.
Hawaii, with it's warm ocean water and sandy beaches, giant sea turtles and ripe mangoes rotting on the ground, would be good for my and #netnarr's soul. In Hawaii, time passes in a lazy way, almost like it is a time black hole, sucking your time away from you without you even knowing.
Of course, it's always possible the mirror is lying, bending light into illusion, and distorting the way the world looks when you looked within it. You run your fingers along the surface of glass, seeking the imperfections, the cuts, the small daggers of distorted light.
Ah the light, the Khirgiz Light. That old central Asia tale of yore. Once a man see-eth the light and never bee the sane.
Dancing, whirling and dizzily spinning into the vortex, the rush, the drive - the love, the sheer damn buzz of it all. What next? Gasp, plunge. Surge. Explode with myths - explode the myths. The light - the dark - the heat. The waves dash. The foam boils. And still I breathe.
Coming up for air, I could see the people. Waving. It was good. To see the submarine beginning to surface. What a journey to get here.
under the arctic ice and through the inner ear
Notwithstanding these conditions, we decided it was time to sit down with Bernie Sanders and ask him if there was anyplace left he has not sat down, stared at us dismissively over his folded hands. And where does he shop for mittens?