gone gone

“Who does that?” She was pissed.
“It’s not real,” but I was confused.
“Total disrespect.” I felt awful, used, naked and ashamed. But I stood up and faced it.
What a fuckin’ experiment to reveal it all, live time in words across the web. I felt pretty sure no one would care about it, probably forever but maybe in some years if I kept at it and if it was relevant and if it was art or turned out to be art. Still, I felt ulcerous and queer and gangly.
“But it’s not real,” I repeated. And it’s not or at least that is how I think of it. It’s an experiment in reality, like a snowglobe or that Jim Carrey movie where he figures out his constructed reality and busts out after the clues don’t add up. But this is different because I put myself in it, so I know and I control it, somewhat, except for the raw thoughts, those are just risk. I told T this and he sent me home with a pile of Japanese Anime – I found it gross and violent and overly sexualized and somewhat boring. I never got anime, the “ghost in the machine” n such. Salami gave me some a while back and be damned if I couldn’t figure out the allure. Cartoons in general. I assumed it was my problem, that I was missing the code. I blamed my philosophy education. Philosophy will fuck a man up, make him lose all perspective. Then again, it does the opposite to some. What’s the use, I thought, so I took T’s pile home and decided to project it constantly until something clicked. After three days I called him up to report the progress or lack thereof. He was laid up, on pills from a disaster at the dentist. Apparently African Americans have extra long molar roots and the Doc had to dig ‘em out for two hours. He sounded relaxed at least. We had a short conversation about the anime when something clicked – all that sex and violence was like a fantasy, it’s a mixture of thoughts and dreams and reality wrapped in line drawings and mock motion. It made sense, had the power to trigger undeveloped or base things, sort of like a hypo-real and/or hyper-real fantasy. Like pouring the mold out the head of common man. I turned the projections off and decided to sit on that for a while and look again in a few weeks. The sexual images stuck with me the longest. Sex is better than violence.
I thought I’d better write about it. That this blog and what it reveals was/is a year long event to end on January first. I could look back at it like a mirror and use it like a mirror to reflect light and ideas across time. It’s also a hammer, but the musical kind, one that strikes strings like a mallet or bone. You may not like the tunes but there IS music and it holds a power. I wanted to hear it first. So in response I found a program that would do just that. I downloaded it, installed it and opened the blog, all 60,000 some words of published and unpublished stuff. But it loaded as gibberish and played in a melodic brief so beautiful I recorded it with the microphone on the adjacent studio tower before closing down. It’s the first and only time I had done so. Later I found that the program corrupted the file irreparably. The blog and all its subtle confusion, side notes and unpublished briefs were gone for good. What’s more, the computer was backing up at the very moment this happened and the backup file recorded as the corrupt one. It is gone. What remains is a short distorted audible sequence which itself disappeared while converting from native to editable format. It too, is gone. Everything else is live and lived and yours. The rest is pure fiction.