the facile conceit of attempting to remain on an even-keeled ascent. How did one get from there to here? And how can one get from here back to there once again?
I secretly believe that the more transparent user interfaces get, the less conducive to work they actually are. I was a much better writer in the days of hardware fonts and hardware text displays than I am in the post-WYSIWYG epoch.
It wasn’t so long ago that the blue LED was invented. I remember reading the news on Slashdot or somewhere like that. Now they’re everywhere. This has nothing to do with my success or failure, but it’s much nicer to have blue LEDs glowing at you than yellow, red, or green ones.
Potential is discovered in fits and starts, and it is “fulfilled” the same way. Over twenty years now I have alternated between playing “king” and playing “fool” on my own little stage. Right now I am trying to stave off a transition once again, because I have very much enjoyed “king” as of late.
The longer I blog and the older I get, the more impenetrable my own thoughts become. A very long time ago, I could write honestly. Honesty, however, is a luxury for the unambitious. I have been ambitious for too long to be honest, but not long enough to enjoy any of the effects that (had damn well better be ready soon to) result from ambition.
Light and shadow and aesthetics still thrill me. If I could have made a life as a typographer or a designer or a photographer, I would have. These are incredibly fulfilling, sensual, expressive ways of being, I imagine. Maybe I’m wrong.
I’ve been wrong about things before.
I also have been thinking about fiction and poetry lately. I used to write a great deal. People who knew me as a kid no doubt recall the stacks and stacks of scribbling that littered my living spaces, and of course I have a smattering of computer files stored here as well with aborted or partial novels and a few short stories in them.
I wonder where that’s gone? I don’t seem to have that bug any longer. It’s a definite regret; one goes from renaissance man to ready-made ala Duchamp.