Dear diary.

Dear diary I know I haven’t written anything here for a while but there’s been a lot going on in what we call the ‘real world’. And I should mention Facebook because I never realised how, for many people, it is the real world.

In staying away from Facebook, I’d imagined it to be like the many other social networks I have made or joined since the beginning of the internet. I felt I could judge it by technical aspects, but the difference between a small town and New York is not in the shape of buildings. If you have enough people and you influence the mob subtly, everything changes. The machinery itself stays distant, watching and silently moving the streets around to guide the parades. I have learned much about breakfasts, worldwide.

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The first distressing thing I noticed is a clock that says when people last visited. A simple thing and yet it says you just missed somebody, or they are ‘here’ and ignoring you, or that you yourself are desperately avoiding real work and were ‘here’ only a hour ago. It’s a banal evil. Twitter is much better at letting you dip in and out of the water without splashing others.

Seems the other billion users are fine with being confronted by people about whom they have old mixed feelings. I’ve not had that many relationships (I tend to the long term) so I guess it wasn’t such a feat for FB to have them all lined up in my “friends” apart from the one who died and another that it suggested I might go ahead and add to the list OUCH are you kidding me? Was I so sensitive that I found this utterly horrible, and have become so insensitive now that it doesn’t phase me to see them all there in neat order? Plus they all got fat. They think that too when looking at me.

It’s been instructive to watch Bradbury raging at the machine, trying to be as vile and angry as he could manage at the population of Pleasantville, who just smiled and waved at him as they hosed their lush social lawns. He reached maximum vomit and finally disappeared in a puff of smoke, defeated. This instruction led me to try a different kind of rebellion, a surreal mockery of their breakfasts, but that was just as useless, and so I just write whatever gibberish I feel like writing. Besides I am there to test my 360 degree videos and sell some music and that’s working.

Extruding into the real world, a message on Facebook from somebody I last met more than a decade ago. We met again, we have been meeting, and this has become that purgatory of hope and despair we all know as dating. I haven’t dated since my early 20’s and it makes me feel both young and as confused as I was back then. As there are two people involved I can’t be quite as talkative about this as my bereavement, but can I just say that I look forward to the day when I’m not driving through an endless line of emotional crash barriers.

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Let’s see, we’ve done death of parents, major financial problem, death of spouse, loss of job, new relationship… hmm, I see Christmas is on the list, let’s do that one for some more points.

Phoenix Rising

People deal with bereavement in different ways. I keep sadness private and gallows humour public. So just a warning that you’re going to get a bit of that. It’s an appropriate healing method.

You also probably know that rearranging the living space helps, as it swaps memories for potential (you know, living space). And one does tend to want to remove the spot-where-it-happened.

It also matters when somebody suffering a mental illness has occupied a section of the house, which they have slowly turned into an impenetrable twilight zone. It became a protective fort, filled to overflowing with clothing, bags, shoes, and Unknown Feminine Objects. The windows blocked off and lit by candles all day. Everything glued with dust and candle wax. I have spent days on end clearing it out. The main feature was bags. Under several layers of clothing there’ll be a big duffel bag marked PRADA in which there’s a outer bag marked PRADA, inside that will be the PRADA hand bag, inside that will be a PRADA purse and then inside that the sort of treasures they list in JRPG’s – golden coins? used tissues? strange doctor’s letter?

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It’s about three weeks now and I’ve reached the bare floorboards. So what to do with this space? Once upon a time it was my studio, back before I had to sell all the gear. Seeing as I’ve started to re-acquire all this music junk I am set on building
TERSE TAPES – MAN CAVE EDITION.

Some people take the man cave too far. No, I just want to have something that is utterly different to what was there before. Besides, everyone else at my work gets to have an artist studio. In this space I will conduct an investigation into the nexus between musical interfaces and beer, in view of the paradoxical relationship between alcohol consumption, muscle memory and inspiration. I’ll need volunteers. And a cat.