Tuesday, February 24, 2009


This is Walt Dangerfield. No it isn’t. Or it is if you identify me by what I call myself instead of what my mother called me. With whom am I speaking? I choose homage over identity! That’s Los Angeles. Here you change your name when you get off the bus. The rules are: fewer syllables, and don’t sound Jewish. These rules have been in place for more than a hundred years, and are not to be trifled with. Marion Morrison, the world would have been a different place if you’d stuck to your guns. Ha! You’re getting me, straight to you, and neither one of us knows who the other is. Media! Medi-a-ted! There is no straight! There is no face-to-face. All there is, is bandwidth. You see someone on the street, that’s not a person. The person is in the profile, and the profile exists only with the wilderness of switched packets and quantum servers. We’re all existing only in the moment between when a bit is 1 or a bit is 0. Uncertainty makes us, and the moment of certainty is when the tombstone is planted before you ever get a chance to think about your epitaph.

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