At the table in a smallest room of the apartment, with over a hundred boxes of books and items that would probably delight a hoarder more than me. I am staring at the big screen again, next to me a disk I am erasing completely, so I can give that space back to someone who needs it more than me.
Another Terabyte will become available soon, just let me flatten it and open it to the public.
At the same time I am downloading about 25GB that Google has recorded on me, despite of me erasing everything I could with them and telling them to not record anything I do. 45 Applications recorded 25GB. Thanks.
In the larger scheme of things maybe 25GB is not a lot. I wonder how much data I produce per day.
In the subway station down the block, Facebook placed posters that remind me that “fake news” is not my friend. I am obviously asking myself why the people who sell me their incredibly “targeted” and “measurable” advertising when they see me as a business, would actually spend money on much less “precise” posters in subway stations. The answer is on the wall, of course, and this is a moment when I am glad to be sometimes dyslexic. There is a Dog. Facebook is not my friend.
And so I need to write. I need to write, again. And it has to happen here. I am not going to deal with agreements and data that is captured, so I can be better advertised to. I have never had advertising on this site, and I do not think I ever will.
I find it more interesting to let language flow like a little brook, rather than have the tools available to my words can be then interpreted and served to some select group of people or not.
This here is close to a piece of paper. I am grateful for the visibility of it. I am grateful to the friends and partners who have made this piece of paper possible.
But this site is not social media. It is like one of the many boxes next to me. It is filled with ideas that were ready to hatch, then did and then maybe have been around and around for a while. Some might smell and some might have decayed. But they are not created for engagement.
Nothing here is particularly special. But in some ways it has been a way for me to learn about myself and about friends and friends of friends.
There is no algorithm hiding this text. I am not part of a feed, I hope.
It is just a set of words that are allowed to float down the river of time.
I am grateful for this piece of paper. It has opened so many doors for me.
When I originally started writing here, it was to create a counterbalance to the ugly emotions rising after September 11th2001. So perhaps today is a rather good day to open this page again.
It is dark outside, but inside the sun might be rising again. And the sky seems to have an indescribable hue. There might be clouds. But are they really? What if they are messages of water wanting to tell us something. Just when you think you are really important, a child from the ground can see clearly that you are an elephant eating a rabbit. And soon you will be just rain anyway.
I just erased another Terabyte of data. It might be time to sleep.
Casa Dragones connecting to a cube of what used to be a cloud. Hemingway would agree.
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