10.16.2004
PART TWO: The blog as a glorified tombstone.
This is PART TWO of a ramble to myself (and a very few others). In the off-hand chance you are interested, here is PART ONE.
The blogosphere is depthless. It is the future, ‘dusty field’ where tomorrow’s archeologists will sift and cull, sift and cull. Most of it will be (as it is now) shards of colored glass or chips of pottery. It won’t be worth saving. Even at this infantile stage of the information age, its defining characteristic is that there is simply too much of it. 98 percent of what is found on the internet today is either repetition, mindless blather, or a bland compilation of the two.
However, so is the past. We occupy a point on a grand continuum of history. We bloggers in the vast sea may frustrate ourselves, churning through a sea of oblivion, searching for that elusive portal into the light of a vast public consciousness. We may in vain seek notoriety, even if we declare otherwise. We may end yet another day in quiet frustration when no one leaves ‘a comment’. But who is to say, in the end, what happens tomorrow?
It is a safe bet that, as the information age progresses, as layer upon layer of bytes and bits are compressed, stored, re-stored, and brought forth in ways we cannot imagine, our stranded words will be gauged and used in ways unimaginable. Our data-based tombstone could very well reflect and refract the eternal sunshine where shadow once prevented it. One day, data-miners will skim our thoughts at the speed of light, drawing historical conclusions on a meta-scale.
Also, we must be cognizant that our own ancestors might see our words, and cherish them as a genealogist experiences epiphany in the brown pages of an old deed or will book in some County Clerk’s office, far, far away from home. If this be the case, one can rest assured that what is provided will be a whole lot richer than three or four words worth of consanguinity or affinity!
So, in the course of our rambling, perhaps it cannot be over-stressed: every so often, provide a passage or two of personal life. It’s the details that count. Ask any genealogist. With that:
We have several pullet hens coming of age. Our chicken house, which I planned and built with my own hands, overfloweth. The young ones have begun to lay eggs! In a consumer age long since matured with ease of access, there is nothing quite as exciting as finding a first-layed, beautiful brown egg in the nesting boxes. It harkens back to a time before I was born, of days my long-departed grandfather told me of. Those were days which he took so for granted, he never thought to set to words...
This is PART TWO of a ramble to myself (and a very few others). In the off-hand chance you are interested, here is PART ONE.
The blogosphere is depthless. It is the future, ‘dusty field’ where tomorrow’s archeologists will sift and cull, sift and cull. Most of it will be (as it is now) shards of colored glass or chips of pottery. It won’t be worth saving. Even at this infantile stage of the information age, its defining characteristic is that there is simply too much of it. 98 percent of what is found on the internet today is either repetition, mindless blather, or a bland compilation of the two.
However, so is the past. We occupy a point on a grand continuum of history. We bloggers in the vast sea may frustrate ourselves, churning through a sea of oblivion, searching for that elusive portal into the light of a vast public consciousness. We may in vain seek notoriety, even if we declare otherwise. We may end yet another day in quiet frustration when no one leaves ‘a comment’. But who is to say, in the end, what happens tomorrow?
It is a safe bet that, as the information age progresses, as layer upon layer of bytes and bits are compressed, stored, re-stored, and brought forth in ways we cannot imagine, our stranded words will be gauged and used in ways unimaginable. Our data-based tombstone could very well reflect and refract the eternal sunshine where shadow once prevented it. One day, data-miners will skim our thoughts at the speed of light, drawing historical conclusions on a meta-scale.
Also, we must be cognizant that our own ancestors might see our words, and cherish them as a genealogist experiences epiphany in the brown pages of an old deed or will book in some County Clerk’s office, far, far away from home. If this be the case, one can rest assured that what is provided will be a whole lot richer than three or four words worth of consanguinity or affinity!
So, in the course of our rambling, perhaps it cannot be over-stressed: every so often, provide a passage or two of personal life. It’s the details that count. Ask any genealogist. With that:
We have several pullet hens coming of age. Our chicken house, which I planned and built with my own hands, overfloweth. The young ones have begun to lay eggs! In a consumer age long since matured with ease of access, there is nothing quite as exciting as finding a first-layed, beautiful brown egg in the nesting boxes. It harkens back to a time before I was born, of days my long-departed grandfather told me of. Those were days which he took so for granted, he never thought to set to words...
// posted by HunterByrd @ 5:27 PM 
