Journal entry #2 - This is what it must feel like to be a ghost.
One month later and I'm still languishing in my own inactivity - but is that really true? It's something, after so many years, to finally have the time to hang out in chatrooms and touch base with so many people without any kind of context whatsoever. This is what it must feel like to be a ghost.
This is why I'm preferring SG over other virtual hangouts, actually. The consequences of online disembodiment seem somehow suspended -not the paranoia, perhaps, or the perv. factor, I would imagine. But some of the...the what? - The pretense? Perhaps all that skin under the auspices of a seemingly consensual enterprise between subject and object, that radiates a certain empowerment- a certain deflating of the need to prove oneself. That and the fact that I dig the skin.
Still - I think I'd be a SG boy in a second, If they'd have me. A 32 yr old balding, somewhat squishy Suicide Boy, eating a steak, perhaps, or a bucket of fried chicken, drinking beer, my little pecker winking bravely in the bright photo lights - my best mirror face mooning for camera, doing battle with the objectifying forces of the free market economy by taking the power back into my own, out-of-shape arms. I'm here! I'd be saying - and I'm beautiful...
I'm also hungry. Time to order dinner.
Solidarity!
One month later and I'm still languishing in my own inactivity - but is that really true? It's something, after so many years, to finally have the time to hang out in chatrooms and touch base with so many people without any kind of context whatsoever. This is what it must feel like to be a ghost.
This is why I'm preferring SG over other virtual hangouts, actually. The consequences of online disembodiment seem somehow suspended -not the paranoia, perhaps, or the perv. factor, I would imagine. But some of the...the what? - The pretense? Perhaps all that skin under the auspices of a seemingly consensual enterprise between subject and object, that radiates a certain empowerment- a certain deflating of the need to prove oneself. That and the fact that I dig the skin.
Still - I think I'd be a SG boy in a second, If they'd have me. A 32 yr old balding, somewhat squishy Suicide Boy, eating a steak, perhaps, or a bucket of fried chicken, drinking beer, my little pecker winking bravely in the bright photo lights - my best mirror face mooning for camera, doing battle with the objectifying forces of the free market economy by taking the power back into my own, out-of-shape arms. I'm here! I'd be saying - and I'm beautiful...
I'm also hungry. Time to order dinner.
Solidarity!
