Thank god I'm a complete tech moron, as when I came home last night after imbibing numerous substances, I fancied myself a comedian and tried to post on my blog, which resulted in me waking up on the floor dehydrated this morning to a black screen and my cheek resting on my mouse.
I probably would have typed about how fucked up I was using the z,q and v keys only, and talked about how much I like the new Belle and Sebastian track "Your Cover's Blown." Puppies, legwarmers, Eddie Izzard and pralines would have also been mentioned, as they were also very much on my confused and fragile mind.
I could have instantly posted all that crap, which is strange to me, as I remember sitting in a college journalism class not too long ago reading about the Information Superhighway, and contemplating its possibilities and evils, and here I am, barely able to send email, yet with my own little space out there, which makes my hungover head spin even faster, particularly when I think of Umberto Eco's theory that text is created as much by the reader as it is by the author, and that assholes like me are instantly able to gauge their level of depression and google their new love interest with the click of a mouse (if said person has indeed managed to retain control of their muscular system).
So who does all this shit belong to anyway?
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1 comment:
Can't find a site on replica chanel handbags. Always in a rush and I don't know why. The last site I was on was about replica chanel handbags which was okay to read. Your's was better.
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