Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Realized that if I posted the sentence that just occurred to me, I could never use the key phrase in my novel, should I ever write it. Words die instantly on the internet, even if they live forever in the Search Engine's data farm, creating whatever quantum of heat. I half remember this article I skimmed at nytimes before checking on something suddenly more pressing, it said something about the way computer light fucks with the part of your brain that reads. You can only really read things on paper. Even friends' blogs I just kind of skim.
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14 comments:
splinternet.nothing
internet like that ghost cage in the ghost busters basement, it can't hold!
"...the desire of the present day masses to "get closer" to things, and their equally passionate concern for overcoming each thing's uniqueness by assimilating it as a reproduction." w benjamin
delete this comment
sincerely, the ghost
delete the internet
trapper keeper
aura killer
books are different
why?
because they can be eaten
internet undead
"i'd pay the devil to replace her"
"if you love somebody set them free"
that sesame street animation where the child picks the flower and it dies
and he learns not to pick the flower!
don't YouTube it!
radio/untaped tv closer to life
new vinyl
old vinyl has an aura despite its original desire for neutrality, to itself contain and neutralize something, keep something forever. so new vinyl tries to hold and hoard both a once unique musical event (or layer of events) AND a technology (and the once true living life around it) that has since passed into history, old, smiling, dying, sweet, sad, ready. a music and a technology which both desire to flee, fade along w their brownyellow bittersweet auras all the not undead are blessed w by a merciful God i call Father
"but maybe he's still with me
the latch was left unhooked
he's waiting in the wind and rain
i simply haven't looked"
dot gone
Hi Carl! It's John. Long time no speak. I like this post: I think the blog qua form is dead, and not as poetry and the novel are dead, in that useful out-of-public-space way that gives them a spiritual aura they lacked before, but that its promise, about which I once felt rather utopian, was simply impossible, a cheat, false consciousness. Maybe I'm just getting old, but I don't think I like the internet anymore. Yet I'm absolutely addicted to it.
In other news, to recur to an old topic with us, my faith, as it were, in Henry James, as the length of these sentences suggests, has been restored, if you will.
(Parody: a low art form. Sarcasm at the level of structure. Irving Howe: "sarcasm is the lowest of the rhetorical devices." Sarcasm: the chief thing wrong with the internet. I once had a discussion about this with Asa Irons when he visited Minneapolis.)
Anyway...have you ever read Washington Square? It's *really* good. Moral fiction I can believe in. Unskimmable.
Okay--thought a blog comment would somehow be more fun than an email. We should talk soon--love to the fam.
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