The price of Fame

If you'd been here, I mean here, the home server, my trusty Linux box; you would have seen the blog come and go, the edits, the deletions, perhaps smiling. I'm okay, thanks for the emails. I really don't need to get out more, but I do appreciate the thought, usually right when you're thinking it!

This is a traumatic era, sure, but not for me; I find myself in in the most enjoyable current of thoughts and events; but for the world, this time, these technologies and products, and philosophies and sciences we have created, and just where they are taking us. Holy Shit!

it's a time of change, the beginning of a new age. We like the Fool of the Tarot, one foot in the old world, the other in the new, so amazed he does not feel the tiger biting at his ankle. That Holy Shit is about to hit the fan. I'm ready for it, are you?

Our incredible ignorance and stupidity may be our Achilles' Heel, one of many. And I'm wondering about my part in this, and exactly how I might bite back, is all. My father told me a story, and I can't get it out of my mind. Not my earthly father! He died when I was still a child, bless him! I couldn't have understood this story as a child. Or with some "Dad" filling my head full of shite. The story, in its entirety, is beyond my comprehension, but one thing's for sure, I'm in it.

See, you coped with the Tooth-Fairy being just a story, and Father Christmas, too. But most folk still didn't understand them, though they do act as carriers. So what about the Jesus? Could you handle that? Would me simply presenting the evidence be best? A poem maybe? Or carelessly drop it in a blog? Or all of them? Do I need one domain for this, or two? Questions, I have.

We each live our own reality; the surgeon and his terminally ill, the terminally ill, the Darkest African tribesman, the Hopi, the priest, the pornographer, the thief. We each our own lives, and none but our circle touches this, though we may touch them.

The marketing specialist: But how to increase this circle?

Me: And for free?

There was a day, some months ago, every evening I'd watch the hits here, see where you all came from, those interesting forum threads, the search engines, the odd all-at-once-from-nowhereness of IRC channel url drops, I watched you, and it was good. And word gets out, I guess. And there became too many to watch, and the logs became large, and tracking them a task no human could undertake, and now I'm lost in this, guessing.

Where did you come from?
How long did you stay?
Where did you go next?

it's important to me, I want this place to do what I want this place to do, and feedback is the key. I don't mean comments and emails, though they're great, all of them, but they only account for a fraction of visitors. When was the last time you emailed a webmaster to congratulate them on their site's content? Or to complain? Almost no one does. It takes Time, you see.

I'll solve this with php, of course, visitors becoming meaningful statistics, interesting forum threads plotted on the graph of inward links, PR-pushing clickables. I don't want to lose touch with you, so what can I do? This needs more thought, and better ways of doing things, but There's only so much time.

Not enough hours in the day?
Then put more in!™

I sing. that's what I do. I make songs. (there is music always, everywhere, allthetime, it used to sound like mozart, and then bach, just now it feels more like an indian strain, it's been many things, but ever-present. Songs fall out of it, not like it, just out of it, all the time. What's a boy to do? I sing, from the moment I open my eyes, from Jazz to blues, to folk, to just whatever the loudest sound has sparked off in the din of music everywhere, melodies popping like hot-spring bubbles) And Images, I frame things, and capture them. (because I am like a child, and every time I open my eyes I am amazed. there are probably drugs that can do this, but walking down a simple street even, is magical, meaningful for me, imagine a rushing stream! or a beautiful naked friend! and I know that with just the right framing, the right light and tone, the correct focus and distance and aperture and development and presentation, I can share what I see with you, and this MUST be preserved, my report, filed) And words, I have to let them out (because they tangle and reconnect and shift and tear apart if I leave them in my head, and poetry is the only way to encapsulate their entirety, to capture them and pin them down like butterflys, and it's almost impossible to do that, and it challenges me, and everything else is a slave to this, this need to distil large things into smaller words, and to find the hidden rhythms in their structure, rhythms to invoke the deeper music and meanings, to evolve the use and usefulness of words, and my report must be filed!) And all this takes time.

On this page, how many instances of the word "time"? I wonder.

for now..

;o) Cor

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