Sat here by the stove. I snore when I’m sick, at least I snore more than usual, enough to be a pest. So I’ll tend to the wood and keep the house warm as I doze on this little pad left here or given. Maybe I’ll drift off to a familiar book, or a movie up and to the left from where I’m sitting.
It feels like a slumber party.
Being sick makes me feel like a kid, and being up late does too.
I wrote yesterday about the internet not being worthy of the more tender parts of my life, and I think that’s true, but I’m not certain I know why exactly. I love the internet. I’ve spend a hideous amount of time there and I have many friends who live there.
Something about it feels packaged. I can be a person in my yard, but I can only be a mask or a brand over the internet, it’s just part of the medium. So anything thought to be authentic, presented in a digital medium, is inherently packaged.
Gross.
It feels like a slumber party.
Being sick makes me feel like a kid, and being up late does too.
I wrote yesterday about the internet not being worthy of the more tender parts of my life, and I think that’s true, but I’m not certain I know why exactly. I love the internet. I’ve spend a hideous amount of time there and I have many friends who live there.
Something about it feels packaged. I can be a person in my yard, but I can only be a mask or a brand over the internet, it’s just part of the medium. So anything thought to be authentic, presented in a digital medium, is inherently packaged.
Gross.
Bozo
