Why, in this world, do we feel so compelled to breath our thoughts into every dark corner of the Internet, into this balloon that will never burst and which gains so little by being filled? As the Universe and the Internet expand forever toward a maximal vapidity, differentiation of our selves from the noisy background radiation, the separation of order from chaos, becomes ever harder.
The world is too big and one way to get purchase without the help of nearby community is to build a tiny bubble of identity, maintaining its integrity against a pressing and solicitous Other. The boat, sinking among the crashing waves, if sealed becomes a submarine, and reimagines its downfall as purposive – now exploring the depths it first sought to avoid.
I find myself immersed and turning inward, condemned to pace back and forth in this little space we each occupy yet through its walls to see visions of the most extraordinary fantasy. So isolated and tantalized, as we each must finally be in our way, we yet seek communion with our fellow submariners, to bump into them in a friendly way, to exchange telegraphed beeps, to express fitfully the conditions in our own stifling box and to hear of theirs. We construct these things hastily and the portholes, if they work at all, will never fit cleanly with those of other ships, letting in too much water to ever be worth the risk of a genuine transmission of the real substance.
But the hope is there – how could it not be? I tap my message against the hull – it reverberates endlessly, among the rest, into the ether.