Thursday, February 28, 2013
Someone asked me why I hadn't published lately. As for this old word jockey, I've given up on the published work as a pointless way to communicate. By the time print oozes from the distributor's massive pipeline, the reader has tapped out countless topics like mine on their iPads and digested the summaries, gone on twenty virtual dates by exchanging genitalia photographs, and submitted at least a hundred Tweets to where the only word left to say on the subject was just broadcast to the world by a viral YouTube video. The next wave of conscious opinion is already on the wire.
You know your work is passe when all the late, late show hosts have already told jokes about you three nights in a row. What we have to do is have instantaneous electronic communication where the words never leave their ones-and-zeros state. Every iPhone lites up with "urgent email" the very second your brainwaves rattle in your head, and an RSS feed hits the telecommunications network into everyone's hand with a smart phone in it.
I get depressed whenever I do a Google search to see if anyone has anything published on a "fresh" idea I had only to find thousands of references with extensive bibliographies to boot. I'm fresh out of material which to think with. We are all carbon copies of our past. The future is already in franchise. The best you can do is open a boutique of old ideas and add rickrack to edges.
That's why I just build robots with my grandson and wait for the specter of death to knock on the front door.