It ickled me, pickled me, tickled me too…
“Language is a drug, but a short story cannot be smoked. You can’t inject it. Stories don’t come bottled as a cream. You cannot have a story massaged into you by a bearish old man. You have to stare down a story until it wobbles, yields, then catapults into your face. And yet, as squirrely as they are to capture, stories are the ideal deranger. If they are well made, and you submit to them, they go in clean. Stories deliver their chemical disruption without the ashy hangover, the blacking out, the poison. They trigger pleasure, fear, fascination, love, confusion, desire, repulsion. Drugs get flushed from our systems, but not the best stories. Once they take hold, you couldn’t scrape them out with a knife.”
… and it asked not a sip of my mulligan stew.
A friend teased me this afternoon for one of my digital habits. When I asked the internet to validate me, I got nothing. So here’s the article I wish I’d found so that next time I won’t have to lie when I say that I read about it on the internet.
Every year, like most people, I get a little wistful when my registrar sends me the annual wave of domain renewal notices. …
After a gut-wrenching day of presentations, Kirby Ferguson came onto the XOXO stage last night to share a 5th Anniversary screening of his wonderful film series Everything is a Remix. It still shines.
Ferguson described himself as fundamentally a researcher; but his films achieve much more than merely sharing his research. They make a subtle and important rhetorical critique: when we wax romantic about creative genius, we make bad policy.
The film series itself is a potent remix of a point James Boyle made back in his 1997 book — Shaman’s, Software, and Spleen. They both isolate two very different justifications for copyright (and other “intellectual property”): copyright as a recognition of creative genius (romantic) versus copyright as a way to make creative work marketable (practical). …
Our new Medium Android app is now released in the wild. We’re proud of it. But we owe a deep debt to the communities that fashioned the tools that made it possible:
From all of us, thank you!
And here are some 3rd-party tools that also helped to make our app shine:
Again, thank you!
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes —
I wonder if It weighs like Mine —
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long —
Or did it just begin —
I could not tell the Date of Mine —
It feels so old a pain —
I wonder if it hurts to live —
And if They have to try —
And whether — could They choose between —
It would not be — to die —
I note that Some — gone patient long —
At length, renew their smile —
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil…
this gathering of scattered drops,
this whim of a billion minds and mine
it’s here we found Herself, both in and as the momentary Us.
until we flinched for fear, and by grave gravity of mind,
now We are only Us, a structured billion few.
I and Her and Dreams unraveled when, in haste, we counted.
cold and classified.
we gave short names and shape to this most modern joy.
thus made known the billion minded touch,
and so was Her life unloaded.
clothed and cold,
she dares us still – any and all or each – to Know.