I'm glad to hear that you are not a ghost. I know that sometimes when I recover from some horrendous infection I'll get the feeling that the pain has ended only because I have died. Then I look around and find that I am in the same world as always and realize that Hell couldn't be this bad, and then something nice happens and I surmise that Heaven couldn't be this good, and I come to the conclusion that either I am still alive, or the Catholics are right and there is a Purgatory. But not being Catholic, and thus being skeptical about Purgatory, I conclude that I am most likely still alive (if I am in fact in Purgatory, my apologies to the Holy Trinity, the Virgin Mary, and the Pope. Do you suppose that will get me an upgrade to first class?)
Anyway, I'm glad you are recovering from your ordeal. It is not surprising that, in such circumstances, you would seek out the great collection of the commonplace that is Live Journal. There is something comforting and reassuring about the everyday lives of ordinary people one finds on display here. Reading it is sort of like being a stationary flaneur, and I have always aspired to flaneurie.
However, I do miss the leavening that LJ once had of more imaginative sorts, such as hyperina, the Not Real Lemur, as well as the various trolls who once enlivened our discourse (I especially miss the purged cereal_adder, the Breakfast Snake. Such brilliance, now lost to the world!) Thank goodness we still have cats, though, thanks mostly to a single Russian who is the sole regular poster at art_cats.
And of course I also miss your reports of the doings at the Factory. In fact it has crossed my mind several times that I should start an LJ feed of your Medium account, but I keep forgetting. I suspect that digital flaneurie is harmful to the short term memory.
But I am not surprised that no other comments have been left here. There is a rumor on the Internets (or I am about to start one) that unwary webloggers who visit Live Journal are often shunted into some sort of digital gulag and are never heard from again. It puts a lot of people off.
While I'll be glad to notify you of the Return of Brad, I won't be able to do it by text message. I have yet to enter the age of the smart phone— not because I fear that the CIA will use it to spy on me, and agents laugh at my ass if I put it in my back pocket, but because the reception is so bad in this backwater there would be no point in it. I doubt you'll need my notification in any case, because, as foretold, the Return of Brad will be accompanied by the sudden appearance of goats everywhere, all of them devouring printouts of digital photos of Mark Zuckerberg, and crapping them out as short, blue pencils.
Do continue to grow healthier, and beware of Mediums bearing California rolls. Such things might have been the source of your infection. Though sometimes delicious, avocados are in fact the earthly manifestation of the testicles of demons. To mingle them with crab and cucumber is pure hubris!
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Re: I Invited My Friends to Your House
Date: 2017-03-16 02:42 am (UTC)Anyway, I'm glad you are recovering from your ordeal. It is not surprising that, in such circumstances, you would seek out the great collection of the commonplace that is Live Journal. There is something comforting and reassuring about the everyday lives of ordinary people one finds on display here. Reading it is sort of like being a stationary flaneur, and I have always aspired to flaneurie.
However, I do miss the leavening that LJ once had of more imaginative sorts, such as
And of course I also miss your reports of the doings at the Factory. In fact it has crossed my mind several times that I should start an LJ feed of your Medium account, but I keep forgetting. I suspect that digital flaneurie is harmful to the short term memory.
But I am not surprised that no other comments have been left here. There is a rumor on the Internets (or I am about to start one) that unwary webloggers who visit Live Journal are often shunted into some sort of digital gulag and are never heard from again. It puts a lot of people off.
While I'll be glad to notify you of the Return of Brad, I won't be able to do it by text message. I have yet to enter the age of the smart phone— not because I fear that the CIA will use it to spy on me, and agents laugh at my ass if I put it in my back pocket, but because the reception is so bad in this backwater there would be no point in it. I doubt you'll need my notification in any case, because, as foretold, the Return of Brad will be accompanied by the sudden appearance of goats everywhere, all of them devouring printouts of digital photos of Mark Zuckerberg, and crapping them out as short, blue pencils.
Do continue to grow healthier, and beware of Mediums bearing California rolls. Such things might have been the source of your infection. Though sometimes delicious, avocados are in fact the earthly manifestation of the testicles of demons. To mingle them with crab and cucumber is pure hubris!