by: Jon Awbrey
cc: Textop : Text Outline Project

My dreams tell me that I am passing the cusp of motivation
for peddling encyclopedias, that the Time Being is finally
calling me to take up another route, but there may be some
point to my inscribing here this record of my observations,
perhaps to the benefit of future efforts along these lines.

Jonny

by: Jon Awbrey
cc: Textop : Text Outline Project

I'm not really sure what the next step will be. I may go back to work on the Text Outline Project, as the painstaking consideration of masterworks in philosophy may be formidable enough in its own right to scare off the bowdlerizer and the graffitist alike, for the lack of which motley crew it might just quiet the call to arms, brooms, chutes, and disinfectants of constables, custodians, webfooted airborne paratroopers, and all the other phylaxes of the Internet Res Publica (IRP).

Dream on ...

Jonny

by: Jon Awbrey
cc: Textop : Text Outline Project

Wikipedia, its pawn-shop self, is clearly terminal. It is rabidly approaching the only kind of closure that a hermeneutically sealed system -- a system closed off against critical reflection, error-alerting feedback, and reality testing -- can ever hope to know in the long run.

Whither Citizendium? Who can say yet? I will keep trying to help out for as long as my inputs are reguarded as help, but I am already beginning to have my worries about that. The troll-trigger reflex of the bleen-horns who never grue up on the Usenet is every bit as hairy as the trolls who patroll the borders of that world -- trolls, borders, and world all being relative to the frame of reference of a certain system of imagining, of course.

Jonny

by: Jon Awbrey
cc: Textop : Text Outline Project

I deliberately stayed away from the incipid internet during the last millennium, as I could see its addictive potential -- the amount of time that people I knew were sinking into those primitive bulletin board systems -- and I had way too much that I needed to get done to let myself get quagmoired in that e-ternal quest for the more perfect hit.

So it was only in December of 1999 that I even bothered to get a dialup connection. O Lost !

Halloween is one of those times when I costumarily stop and look back down the tunnel of the years, to compare and contrast the various costumes that I have worn on that occasion, as I can see them now reflected in the particolored borax time beads that my brief buried life has strung along the wire while I wasn't looking. And looking back, retroviewing the whole glitzy parade of internet clowns and floats and marching bands -- among whose mummer I fiddled away my last seven years with song and dance, dog and pony, and general clowning around, the thing that now angers now saddens me is the way that it all dashed my dreams to bits.

Jonny

No good reason …

Jon