Perhaps I have this site figured out. I should write a single paragraph when the mood takes me, but no more, never any politics - though, you can say what you will about Hillary, I'm pretty sure that she would not have started a war with Canada - and no more arguing with online phantoms either, the straw men and women of the apocalypse. I will leave the egregiously categorical assumptions of 3rd rate or wave feminism to their own. Why battle like for like. I'll just make observations about the world that can I see, far from the computer and television screens. The internet seemed like such a promising thing only twenty years ago. Now it merely resembles the television, except that everybody has their own network suited to their shared preferences and sensibilities, and the advertisements are interactive rather than requiring any specific consumer action. Soon enough the government will pass a law that will allow advertisers to pull money from your bank account if they can detect that your eyes lingered on their ad long enough. It will be a form of consensual purchasing. Why not charge people for looking at things? It just makes good American sense. Museums do it, every sport does it, television does it, the internet does it, why not advertisers? Let's tear down the pay walls and institute pay retina-scanners. You'll have to go to court to argue that your gaze was inadvertent or accidental. You'll need to prove that your eyes sometimes look at thing unintentionally. Oh, I just said no more of that. Did I? Perhaps my cynical view of the world is not a response to anything specific. How is one to possibly know in these matters? We live within the miasmic whirlpool of response. Our minds are made that way. I should charge people to provide them with "a peaceful internet experience, with home installation included." I'll just swing by and unplug their router for them and collect the cash. Persistent stimuli is why I never question that anybody drinks or drugs themselves stupid. I only question how some people don't. I would have started a new paragraph by now, under what might be called normal circumstances, where I can write to my heart's content, or until my mind sickens me witless. We are, each of us, lone floating internets of sorts, walking globes of interconnected networks struggling to agree on a communication protocol with which to share something, anything. Each, an ACK to every HELO. EOD.