Those links will be reduced to texts again. My home pages may be a luxury for high-end users, but I want my blog to be more, well, democratic.
Weblove is this way: one site leads to another. I was lead to a site with a link to the blog. Beside it, the text quipped something like, everybody and their mothers have one nowadays... I fathom it was supposed to be witty. I didn't find it amusing though.
Maybe I would if "everybody" meant only that minority with literacy, education in basic composition, computer access, basic computer know-how, and time to spare. That minority which is, in more ways than one, elite. That minority which I am a member of. That minority which is usually so damn shocked with poverty and other diseases but fail to realize its connection with the self.
Some members of this minority often reads illiteracy like a textbook, makes some humanistic comment as I do now and shelves the book for later reference. It does poverty like a little project on the side and treats it like a pretty declamation piece to get attention and votes, build Foundations that will justify the existing norm through some vague notion of Charity, and collect some lifetime achievement medal from entities that know no better. Then the project, like knitwork done in idlehours, is shelved at will.
Webhate is this way: one site leads to another. I have found these other sites, these e-zines i have grouped in my links page, that are more or less aware of the special medium, it's potentialities and threats to the way we think. The way we are and will be. The handlers have involved in their visions the great possibilities of such a readership. And maybe, they could make some difference.
I am lucky to have realized through such sites that the web is not just a redlight district for corporations and pervs. That the information highway is not just a service road for truckloads of distended facts where we journey toward more info and less wisdom.
And not all netizens deserve the grave accusations I give myself.
And although the roads of the matrix are like the urban paths of MyLand, littered with queues of trash, we reside here and we do not just leave our marks. We make our stands.
Right. As some closer to me might have already guessed by now, something significant has happened to me. Else, they know, I wouldn't spill this much hated lava in the form of meta-blogging.
They would be right too. I'm not in a very good mood today. They would be wrong though if they thought this was uncharacteristic of me. This is my character! I am not one too go for the enigmatic effect. No way man.
I do not wish anonymity either. If I say thus, I say thus with my name on it. Anonymity is one of two things. It can be the cowardice of people who care not for responsibility. Or the right of people who are truly too great for their work to be marred by the perversions of posterity.
I know that I have neither escape or right.
Still, I have learned to keep some things to myself. We hurt people less that way. And maybe, not being in "my right mind" is no excuse for me to write this way. Too unsubtle. Too open.
I'd rather I just spewed this through some comical form. Or not write at all and just declaim over fiery refreshments. Or write in the way I always do, trying to do something little by little. With everybody else barely noticing. Too damn subtle, even I don't know if I'm really doing something!
Well, this is the toll of ignorance. I write now, never to know if this is a step forward. Or a step back. I have written again and as always, I remain, craftless.