Sunday November 23rd 2014
I might have
rambled a little yesterday. Indeed I know I rambled more
than somewhat yesterday. Entirely possible I made no
sense at all. And the sad thing is I know why I rambled.
The first reason is a Fly or a Lady Bird seems to have
got itself trapped inside the technical device. It
buzzes now and then. It's the kind of noise that
suggests an imminent technical device
collapse, followed by "Why didn't I back anything up?"
reason has to do with joining The Borg. A poor solution to
the problem of belonging. And it seems to me the joy of writing, the
pleasure of it, the thrill of words, the exploration, the
roller coaster is often shot to hell by The Borg. I'm older
of course, a small Star Trek fan. And in my mind The Borg is
grammar, semi-colons, genres and the sound of dreams being
sucked into the vortex of commerce, book covers, platforms, reviews
and the passion to be noticed. You can call it craft if you
want to, but I wonder where such obedience ends.