As it is, we are merely bolting our lives—gulping down undigested experiences as fast as we can stuff them in—because awareness of our own existence is so superficial and so narrow that nothing seems to us more boring than simple being. If I ask you what you did, saw, heard, smelled, touched and tasted yesterday, I am likely to get nothing more than the thin, sketchy outline of the few things that you noticed, and of those only what you thought worth remembering. Is it surprising that an existence so experienced seems so empty and bare that its hunger for an infinite future is insatiable? But suppose you could answer, “It would take me forever to tell you, and I am much too interested in what’s happening now.” How is it possible that a being with such sensitive jewels as the eyes, such enchanted musical instruments as the ears, and such a fabulous arabesque of nerves as the brain can experience itself as anything less than a god? And, when you consider that this incalculably subtle organism is inseparable from the still more marvelous patterns of its environment—from the minutest electrical designs to the whole company of the galaxies—how is it conceivable that this incarnation of all eternity can be bored with being?
No sane mortal is truly free, because true freedom is so terrible that only the mad or the divine can face it with open eyes.
It is now known to science that there are many more dimensions than the classical four. Scientists say that these don’t normally impinge upon the world because the extra dimensions are very small and curve in on themselves, and that since reality is fractal most of it is tucked inside itself. This means either that the universe is full of more wonders than we can hope to understand or, more probably, that scientists make things up as they go along.
We hear again and again that the web is becoming a less-free place, that it is being monopolized by a few corporate entities and that it’ll soon be more like TV than like the web we once knew. And it’s true, which is why these patches of resistance are more important than ever. Call them arty, marginal bubbles, but places like UbuWeb, WFMU, PennSound, aaaaarg and Monoskop serve as reminders that the web still is — and still can be — free.
If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?
This line encapsulates the concept of a good kid in a bad city, and it cuts into one of the most moral questions in human existence: Can good come from evil? The best part about the line, as is true of the best poetry, is that it doesn’t answer the question it asks. For Kendrick’s immediate purposes, he’s the flower and the city is the dark room. The question is: Can you trust him?