Wordcount: 10 by 100
To be honest
I’m waiting for WWIII
I think it’ll come like Pearl Harbor
But instead of naval bases
They hit servers
Financial markets, government networks,
Google, of course
The very lifeblood the throbbing networks of our world
You can see history this way:
Moving the battlefield from the battlefield
To the streets of cities
To patrols in hostile suburbs to massacres in villages
To the convenience of your home computer
Can you imagine the panic?
Unable to communicate, unable to access
News, email, bank accounts, an entire life online
Psychological warfare at its best
I’ve no idea who’ll win.
It’s an information age and that’s where the fight is—information. Nevermind weapons and casualties. Take out their ability to see at all, and half the battle’s won. Everything moves fast, we’ve got supercomputers doing high-frequency trading on every market and it’s not minutes anymore, but nanoseconds that count.
Beethoven wrote his Ninth Symphony during the Biedermeier Period, at the end of the Napoleonic Wars. Oppressive, deep political anxiety, strong secret police. You can hear echoes of military marches, even as he strives to reach Elysium.
Is that the answer?
History repeats, but has it ever been this fast before?
Artistic oeuvre and structure.
Individual in the continuum and culmination of time and accomplishment.
Seeking to make sense of the walls that surround, the eyes that watch.
A reflection, in every sense of the word.
Contained in 10 sets of 100 words, the closed interval from zero to one.
What is the picture that you see, the performance of word experiments?
What have I discovered of myself, the lens that takes nothing new and recasts it under the sun?
Someday I will make people laugh. This is altogether too serious and I’ve left out one of the most important things.
Satire. Mockery. Comedy. A sense of play and playfulness.
Because sometimes, you just have to laugh. You have to march straight up to that spire, knock on the black glass and laugh.
There doesn’t have to be a reason for it. It could be a statement, or not. It could be born from madness. The laughter of the hysterical.
The laughter of the free, those who know and don’t care, those who know and care, those who don’t know and don’t care, those who don’t know and wouldn’t care if they did.
Why is everything a power struggle to me?
Quando me'n vò
Quando me'n vò soletta per la via,
La gente sosta e mira
E la bellezza mia tutta ricerca in me,
ricerca in me
Da capo a pie'...
Ed assaporo allor la bramosia
sottil che da gl'occhi traspira
e dai palesi vezzi intender sa
Alle occulte beltà.
Cosi l’effluvio del desio tutta m'aggira,
felice mi fa, felice me fa!
E tu che sai, che memori e ti struggi
Da me tanto rifuggi?
le angoscie tue non le vuoi dir,
non le vuoi dir so ben
Ma ti senti morir!
(Quella gente che dirà?)
La commedia è stupenda!
I am learning. We are learning. Teaching ourselves, integrating new paradigms.
Laughter. A few years ago, I didn’t know the value of laughter. But after a long winter...
Despite restrictions and doubts, Panopticon does not take away ambition. What might have been the desire to change the world is transformed into the desire to change life. Physical action becomes less real and the created realm, thoughts, take on new significance.
How audacious is that, to hope for freedom? Just how fucking audacious is that, when your very right to identity is denied?
And laughter. To smile and survive despite. Despite.
These last sets have been much more coherent. It’s only fitting.
I came out online a few weeks ago. The support I got took me completely by surprise. I had no idea.
Panopticon, as much as it’s a space and as much as gazes divide, it’s also a net. There are nodes, links, connections.
Anonymity allows people to reveal ugliness they would otherwise keep in check. Anonymity allows people to be something they would otherwise hide. Like every system—like every person—there are sides.
It’s written into my name, twice. Anon also means “now.” I find that fitting.
What makes us who we are? What separates you from me, what distinguishes my voice from yours? What characterizes us, what makes a character memorable or compelling?
Is it situation? Is it plot? Setting? Thoughts?
I want to tell you a story. I want it to encompass an entire world. But can that be new? Can it be original? Does originality matter so much as the presentation of old themes and plots, reenvisioned by my eyes?
Is this a story?
Is it that I took the sun and the world, experience and knowledge, smashed it, then created my own mosaic?
I’ll give you the key.
Later. One click away. The foundation of the sprawling.
I like the conciseness of this, 100 words. Final cap at ten thousand, approximately. Some were more than 100, some less. Most on the dot.
Metaphors and structure, information and commodity. War, society, education, governments. Mathematics and music, human accomplishment all under gazes and all in consumption. Words, laughter, the power therein.
The sets should stand alone, but many probably don’t. Some are there for the sake of continuity.
Continuity. Laughable. This is so disjointed.
I’m okay. Not everything’s a metaphor. I’m learning, dealing.
This is about everything you think it’s about. It’s also not.
Go back to the beginning. When I first wrote this, the word was not world, but family.
Read: You must understand that in their world, information is a commodity.
Intent: You must understand that in their family, information is a commodity.
Add a second variation, the unconscious level.
Read: You must understand that in their family, information is a commodity.
Intent?: You must understand that in their family, love is a commodity.
Do I know what I’m saying?
The personal expressed as the global, global expanding and touching everything.