Somedays, I feel like nothing so much as a pair of eyeballs (four-eyes!) reading reading reading. There's something weird about the way human beings seem to compulsively generate text and then create machines to generate even more text. And then create still more tools to send that text to as many different places as possible. In the beginning was the word, right?
And then text gets shuffled around. Cutup and plorked here and there and everywhere all over town.
Boy howdy! What's all the furious activity for, anyhow? he wrote, typing compulsively in front of a glowing box.
Typey typey type. Some kind of Red Queen's race, seems like. If you know what I mean. Where does all this frumious typing get us? I mean, what location will we arrive at? (By we, I mean all of us frantically typing and reading and plinging and plorking.)
Good night my delicious chums!