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...But of these sophisms and elenchs of merchandise I skill not... |
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Sunday, February 19, 2006 Comments exist, in the sense that they get made and they go somewhere and as that happens a notice is sent to me through the convoluted pipeline that exists for that purpose, but they don't exist in the sense that they can be recalled, or pointed to afterward, or summoned to any kind of consistent definable presence outside the abstract periphery of things that are, but are not ours. They don't belong to me, or to you who have made them, but to that larger amorphous presence that squirms like a well-fed toddler in its theoretical basinette - too big for that, too small for the world - alternately frustrated and cooing with delight, bearer of promise all unknowing, alien, new. Which is well and good, but a complete subversion of the function of the application. Which purports to be dialog and is, as well as being remonstrance, grooming, confirmation, denunciation, intellectual hitch-hiking and other less-easily catalogued services and tools. So nuts to that. On the positive tip Informant38 may have come back to its relative senses, or - like an adolescent colorless and dull in the grinding morning-after, slumped sullenly in semi-toxic isolation at the breakfast table in a too-bright kitchen, may just merely be willing to be, for now. And that will have to suffice.  
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