Brain Junk and a Game of Telephone With My Unruly, Diseased Brain

There's a whole lot of nothing going on in my world today. With Flackbun happily showing off his wares after Et Tu VIII, I've spent the past few days trying to pick a new bun from the hutch, but they've all been so thoroughly cowed by the goliath of Flackbun that they're reluctant to hop forward. Right now, Part III of History Lessons looks like it's going to win, and I'll be spending the next week or so in the company of the good Dr. Hawkes. There is the possibility that my SPNfic could make a surprise leap from the privet hedge, but I doubt it.

I'm feeling disconnected from the world at the moment, and if torenheksje's most recent post is any indication, I'm not the only one. The unifying tentacles of the Internet, it seems, have also succeeded in isolating us from one another, have reduced our most intimate confessions to acts committed at a safe remove. The world is closer than ever, but we are farther apart.

The Internet makes the islands of us into archipelagos, but we're so comforted by the illusion of closeness that we never step off our own island to visit another, so that as our vaunted community of humanity contracts over the fiberoptic wires, it also atrophies. We're fading together a modem line and a keyboard apart. And I'm not pointing fingers because I'm as addicted as the next person on my list. It just amazes me that we see the world crumbling around us and think we're doing something about it just because we typed a pithy line in our blogs.

When the species dies, it will be with the shrill wail of a disconnecting modem. It's fitting, really, the image of the Almighty ending His most flawed and cherished experiment by reaching down and pulling the plug.

Wow. I didn't mean for this post to be such a downer, so how about some more brain junk?

~rummages~

( A Game of Telephone With La Guera's Brain )