futurebird's Diaryland Diary
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techno-romancing
wean hall at night
The other students have returned to the city. The stores will be open late again. I can almost hear the noise of all the kacki wearin�, linux usin�, Rush listen�, geeks getting ready. It�s like the scuttling of a thousand tiny fingers on greasy keyboards rushing, hissing in the distance. It�s the cosmic background noise of my twisted little universe.
I�ll be the first to admit there is romance in being partway lost in this culture: walking through Cyert hall at night while watching the green lights of �andrew� (apparently some sort of big-deal internet hub) flickering through the bullet proof glass of the server room; reminiscing about the days when we were one of the #1 targets for a nuclear attack during the cold war; looking for the mysterious 9th floor of Wean Hall; waiting for a super intelligent AI to take over the world . . . Romantic.
No matter how much I loved it I never could convince myself that all that dead bleeping matter was of any real importance. I�d rather curl up like a sled dog in the snow and forget that we ever built this heap up junk called the internet. I could forget the computers and the little I know about game theory and concentrate on what is it about a wind-blown tree on an empty hill top, spreading its arms out in angry, ramifying asymmetries, that makes me tingle from the back of my neck to my hip. Is it the sight of the pattern of my lungs repeated in the sky? The similarity between the bent trunk and a dancer�s waist caught in mid-leap?
Still I wouldn�t ever know about the oxygen sucking anti-trees in my chest if not for technology. Maybe I go on these flings of techno-romancing looking for something.
Nah! I think It�s just all the beautiful, intelligent boys.
05:37:27 - 2001-01-15
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