placidflaccidacid
Nov. 11th, 2002 12:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blustockingIt's almost midnight.
It's almost 8am.
I'm like a fucking sponge. I'm too susceptible.
How long will this last? How long this time. Grab it while you can, the merry-go-round is bound to throw you off sooner or later. My thoughts are over there, riding the bumper cars, crashing into each other like retarded children. I like to walk the midway at night, hands shoved in my pockets, wind whipping around me. My rings attempting to escape my fingers due to the cold and recent weight loss.
If you think you know what this is about, you don't.
I'm just a reporter, a heavy-handed recorder.
Demon, child.
---
Does it bother you, this medium. I suddenly realized that I've put "important" thoughts down here. I've abandoned the safety(yessss, safe...just ask Kurt Cobain) of paper. When this online journal ends, and it will, this will all be lost.
Am I arrogant enough to think something great will be lost? Yep. You bet I am. All writers are arrogant, all artists. You have to be. I may "suffer" from low self-esteem in other areas of my life, but hoo boy, not here. I have my moments, but it does get to me that this is essentially, eventually, a fleeting moment, this online journal thang. I like to go back and read the shite I spewed months, years ago. Occasionally, it will spawn new thoughts, ideas. Occasionally it will just make me glad I'm not like that anymore. So fuck. Do I start going through this muddle now? THAT doesn't sound appealing, does it? Or do I let it go. It's not like ye olde noggin isn't a crap-factory anyway. It's not like I can't just keep the tripe a' flowin'. Do you like how I said I was arrogant and then proceeded to cut myself down? Yeah, I enjoyed that too.
There's more, but I don't know where it is.
I'd like to lay down on the floor, twist around and get these knots out of my back, think a bit, but I know what will happen. I'll fall asleep, like I always do. I'll roll over on my stomach in front of the fan and fall straight to sleep. I am Pavlov's dog. Woof.
And now, to purge in a private entry.
*removes hat and bows*
And the EVER POPULAR...
****
It's almost 8am.
I'm like a fucking sponge. I'm too susceptible.
How long will this last? How long this time. Grab it while you can, the merry-go-round is bound to throw you off sooner or later. My thoughts are over there, riding the bumper cars, crashing into each other like retarded children. I like to walk the midway at night, hands shoved in my pockets, wind whipping around me. My rings attempting to escape my fingers due to the cold and recent weight loss.
If you think you know what this is about, you don't.
I'm just a reporter, a heavy-handed recorder.
Demon, child.
---
Does it bother you, this medium. I suddenly realized that I've put "important" thoughts down here. I've abandoned the safety(yessss, safe...just ask Kurt Cobain) of paper. When this online journal ends, and it will, this will all be lost.
Am I arrogant enough to think something great will be lost? Yep. You bet I am. All writers are arrogant, all artists. You have to be. I may "suffer" from low self-esteem in other areas of my life, but hoo boy, not here. I have my moments, but it does get to me that this is essentially, eventually, a fleeting moment, this online journal thang. I like to go back and read the shite I spewed months, years ago. Occasionally, it will spawn new thoughts, ideas. Occasionally it will just make me glad I'm not like that anymore. So fuck. Do I start going through this muddle now? THAT doesn't sound appealing, does it? Or do I let it go. It's not like ye olde noggin isn't a crap-factory anyway. It's not like I can't just keep the tripe a' flowin'. Do you like how I said I was arrogant and then proceeded to cut myself down? Yeah, I enjoyed that too.
There's more, but I don't know where it is.
I'd like to lay down on the floor, twist around and get these knots out of my back, think a bit, but I know what will happen. I'll fall asleep, like I always do. I'll roll over on my stomach in front of the fan and fall straight to sleep. I am Pavlov's dog. Woof.
And now, to purge in a private entry.
*removes hat and bows*
And the EVER POPULAR...
****
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-11-11 05:19 am (UTC)http://www.livejournal.com/export.bml
I often think about people going before the journal, and in a couple of cases, I've seen it, though it was nobody I personally knew. It's very uneasing, these virtual epitaphs, and I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. People can look back on days-- really look back on days or events in that person's life. I can only guess that it helps some and hurts others.
And then, I think to the movie Freejack, and wonder what it would be like to create a virtual version of the self. There are free vitual intelligence engines available for download. If it were developed enough, it could be quite eerie.
Re:
Date: 2002-11-11 12:16 pm (UTC)I was thinking more along the lines of a sudden downfall of Livejournal itself. Damn technology.