I was complimented on my writing tonight, it felt good. I thought as a treat, I would re-post the first two blog entries I ever wrote.
copied from an old Blog.
So, I like to type sometimes. Most times about nothing… and I thought of this name “Cognizant in the machine” while I was on the bus, so I checked to see if it was available and sure enough. Here I am.
Cognizant in the machine.
I figure that my typical, “go to” metaphor for life, love, and everything else can from now on be —-> “the machine”, and while cognizant does sort of arrogantly imply that I have it all figured out, mostly I just use it because I like the double symbolism of the smaller word, “cog” in there. Just another cog in the machine. So what’s next?
I know one thing. This is going to be a place for me and my ideas. I’ll accept and occasionally ask for comments, but I am going to write for myself. I’m not going to waste time worrying about what someone else might or might not read.
Here goes nothing.
I always meant to continue writing in this blog. But every time I tried, I would fumble over disrupting the beauty of “Here Goes Nothing” being the last words that the blog ever processed.
I guess I see writing as a weapon that human beings try and use to fight against time. We always write hoping to create a permanent reminder of where our thoughts once were. Time and the machine, lurch forward forever feasting on our values and opinions constantly moving and turning us. It is few the individuals whom can reverse this parasitic relationship, whom can steer time and history, set policy, and forever be remembered.
I have a sexual obsession with word choice. By this I don’t mean to say that I obsess over it, but it does obsess me. When I think about stringing together sentences I enjoy never actually thinking about, thinking about which words I am going to use. I was telling someone recently that my language was as much a surprise to me as it is to anyone else. Like a jack in the box that is forever exploding into my thoughtscape I only read whatever my next word is that pops up.
Attaching such a silly notion as permanence to something so fickle as words is then the most ridiculous endeavor I have ever attempted, and yet here I write.
I will try and write more, but it won’t get any better. The machine eats my words, so I use this machine to fight back. type-ity type type. You are just a witness to my pointless battle.
For your homework assignment today boys and girls, think about writing, and try to jot down a couple of lines about language. When you are done, try and take those ideas and make them into a compelling meta narrative that someone with a completely alien history might read and respond to. If in 90 years someone responds, You win. If no one responds. Then the Machine won, and you are another casualty of time.
Don’t forget to Double Space after a period.