Analog

Lonely Isolation Christmas in October Christmas before Halloween I think my face has become more puckered over the last three years.  It seems to more readily yield itself to the unpleasant inversion that is my "discussed face".  After writing that sentence several weeks ago, I thought I'd stop and ask myself what's going on with my sour face.  The answer is absurdly simple and not unlike anything taught over the last 3,000 years: high expectations can lead to disappointment. Yes, I know.  If you don't punch behind the board, it won't break.  If you don't follow through with your swing, the ball won't make it over the net.  So on, and so forth, it goes on like that.  I'm also not talking about complacency or accepting a status in life, either. Refreshing the house with some incense. Bizarrely enough, this is about a basic human instinct for a desire for a higher power.  It's not something I give myself over to very of

I'm not sure why I thought I'd title this blog post with a reference to The Cranberries' 1993 album, but there's where my head is.  Mostly, I think I just wanted to throw something out there in a way that I haven't done in a very long time. I typed about a page and a half and just as quickly erased it.  What would have become scratch paper or a wad of paper in my waste basket is now an electronic flash, possibly data in a humming hard drive in California, saved as a temporary data file.  Did you know that every Google search uses the same amount of electricity as microwaving a cup of coffee?  It makes me wonder if my paper waste was actually worse than typing this electronically.  I'm not convinced. Even my radio is Internet-based.  I've got the indecipherable voice of a Dutch newscaster behind my thoughts.  I find it easier to type when I can't understand what he's saying ... except I understand "computer virus" and "Fox News"