Thursday 25 March 1999
Pic of the day: SPOON!
As we grow older, our memory isn't what it once was. Then it is
nice to know that there are some people who want to help us.
Who are concerned about our ability to easily recognize potentially
useful objects in our vicinity. Who make spoons with the text
SPOON on them, and forks with FORK and so on. We wouldn't want
to just stand there with one of them things and ponder what it
could be, now would we? SPOOOON!
It's funny how, when I read about long dead philosophers: Some of them seem so clear and understandable, while others seem fuzzy and obtuse. I wonder, is this because the "clear" ones think like me, or were the others actually fuzzy and obtuse?
Speaking of fuzzy and obtuse, I'm gonna mention my latest attempt at light fiction, tentatively called NetMan. [1] In which the main character discovers that the world is actually an interconnected Web, allowing him to investigate anywhere and teleport to any place as soon as he has found where it is. (I think I've mentioned a dream I had a while ago in which I could teleport via computers?) The connecting principle that is omnipresent and permeates all things, is called "The Pattern Of Reality In Things", or in Norwegian: Mønsteret Av Realitet I Ting. ;)
In the absence of NetMan, you may want to idly drift by the homepage of Electric Girl. Make of this what you will. :)
I take it that my regular readers also regularly read the writings of the irrepressible (oh, I just lurvve that word) GabGab, and so you probably gasped as much as I did at her recent graphic exemplification of the theory that "you just can't choose what turns you on". Not going into such detail, I want to add that you just can't choose WHEN, either. Or so it seems. This morning, as I was still lying in bed desperately trying to wake up (or not, depending on which of me you mean), I had this vivid daydream/fantasy. About an imaginary twin of mine and a just as imaginary younger sister. I became very excited, but luckily I finally managed to break out of it, breathing heavily and my heart hammering in my chest. [2] The funny thing is that when I'm thinking back on it now, fully awake (well almost fully), it seems rather pathetic and not exciting at all.
Well, it still sort of beats a wet dream I had in my younger years, in which I had sexual intercourse with a wooden table. Yes, that's right. It doesn't really feel worth it when you wake up and find that your stuff is all gooey and icky etc etc and all for a, well, fucking table!