shy of six months. dates passed, topics came and went, some missed their shot, 40k new members. change never changes. honest to God August to December feels much longer than January to June. I had an idea of what December would be, but this June is wholly unrecognizable; I guess I've been here before. let's get to it.

when we were young, this was all new to us. not much in our heads but great gusts to our backs, all hubris excused. computers, the Internet, and the culture at the time. radio, tv, and whatever our parents & teachers let slip didn't compare, or prepare. it started off simply enough; naïve clicks, reading without understanding, viewing without knowing. you'd really think there was no reason for it to be any different from the milieu of content we waded through already, our perpetually stimulated and thus senseless generation, if it weren't for the fact that this place actually reacted. coming to the internet, there was something new every time, which would be interesting enough alone, but what's more, it became familiar without being repetitive; it was alive. plenty of it was just us emulating and latching on to what was there, what older folks were doing, but with time, the mix became a little more even, our input actually having an effect, a firsthand experience in democracy. and, after not too long, there were pieces of us to be found. it's a frightful thing but all those hours weren't meaningless. we lived in these spaces and meant something, participating in ways children seldom get to. kids make art, kids can be seen, but it's always qualified, less than. for us, it just was. the internet's the internet, users users. no distinctions. and, what might be unique, is that to varying degrees per person, all that happened remained. it's all still there, our young years etched into the great formless relief and our ghosts still milling about. even if the forums aren't active anymore, there's still a kind of presence to them, always available to whomever happens by, be it digital anthropologists, new youngsters, or carrion feeders like myself. it's a gift, something you can always go back to, learn from, celebrate, emulate, and if you really need to, relive.

it's cursed, too. when we were young, we looked into those screens and saw the moment as it was and who we could be, something to run after; it was bustling, with paths not yet taken to places unknown. this really was a new world, one that we could explore with license and presumably without exploitation. we tread those trails, leaving marks along the way and ultimately creating new ones, digital natives without being born there, self-guided naturalization. later, though, new services arisen and the physical world progressing as it does, the screens spit back an image of who we were, years of input processed into a writhing and stretched fabric of personality, gnawed on and digested, but undeniably accurate. it's more than a reflection, because we don't have to bear ourselves before anything; it's just there, always has been, always will be. and, let me tell you, it's hard to overcome it. because, while it isn't real, it isn't alive, it certainly isn't dead. new pieces always popping up that make new connections, telling the future while you're living it, not letting you go. and damn it if it isn't fascinating. how many hours you can spend tracing all the ways you wrote yourself, walking the roads that lead to now in dreadful detail. struggling to let go, afraid of never regaining what you once were, what you could do. inspiration is interaction. life is lived, nothing less. that's why things don't spark like they used to, you can't carry on your flame with wood that's already been burnt. you need something new, and yet, this place, this life, is as suffocating now as it was liberating then, in no small part because of our own actions. it's time for the next step, whether you go along or not.

https://64.media.tumblr.com/c96bcfae0fd62707f3a864d8cac664a2/tumblr_oyi8aq7oYV1wf5mhio1_500.jpg

myspace has grown a lot. 41k users. four months ago there were 13k. doubt half of them are truly active, and it's hard to exist in the background, as a location and not a person. the site is reaching a size where accounts really aren't adequate, 10 messages and 100 comments don't cut it. CSS and blogs are arguably the most consistently substantive & accessible parts of the experience now, but it's being lost. less spontaneity, less creativity. less absurdity. difficult to hone in on folks really trying to make something. the collage of accounts has grown so large and there's no real way to zoom out and make sense of them collectively or compartmentalize and partake in with intention. it's all a big mess settling into boring patterns. maybe that's the point. that's how things really start, isn't it? messes that sort themselves out. it's cosmological. something on this website, or maybe in whatever web this site fits in, will spark, and the flame of the internet will carry on. maybe it's a connection, maybe it's a renewed passion for personality and presentation, customization retaken. maybe it's nothing at all, just a flash in the pan. exciting to know we still have a pan.

writing against time. against numbers, percentages, check marks and check-ins. you write and hope you're right at the right time. you right wrongs right now, write whenever, when you'll read it, write wherever, where you'll find it when you don't expect it. surprising yourself is the first step to seduction, to being more than a voice alone in your head. let your mind start talking, start finishing your own sentences. beat yourself to the punchline, and then you can start looking for company.

my last post was two months, two weeks ago, october 12th. before then, october 11th. started out with a triplet in late august. I was excited, to learn and participate. this was a destination, going in and out of pages felt authentic, like it mattered. the random button still worked and I still cared about it. how different the future was then. how different today was. the plans were actually the same, just much better. catch up in the slow down; then I turned a page and found myself in a completely different book.

it's over. it ended that day. even before then. every buttress a burden & every brush a bond; have to break to breathe.

happened over text. we called and acknowledged it, sure, but it happened over text. in the shifts and misses, gifts and kisses, rifts and stitches. there's nothing to tell, just to talk. you put the pieces together, make sense of where they're going, where they've been. biggest piece is where they are; nothing more powerful than now. I know how they did it, how it happened. heard it in the silence, September secrets. just like last year. just like last time. little tweaks come before the truth, no one says until it shows, even here.

can't see what you don't feel; no one knows what they don't know; anyone who doesn't shut up when they should should. slouched at the bar, resolved in the car. heartsbreakbread,headstakeheart. I can't even let it out here; if they didn't see it, did I really feel it? I didn't mean to write so many posts like this, stepped back from the fourth wall. this is just for you, no one else. I'll get back on track.

you don't run from reality, because reality is real. there's no way of avoiding it, of just carrying on. you can't help but react. pretending everything is fine, that nothing's changed, is arguably the greatest mark of change, how it corrupts you and leaves you clinging to the past's present. no, you run from realizing reality. acknowledging the way things are and accepting it means moving on from what was, a chance to let go and start anew; but, damnit, redemption is damning.

https://i.imgur.com/6a16CZ6.jpg

early May, 2015. 10am. my brother and I are playing hooky at the second-best Waffle House in town. hashbrowns, friends, vanilla coke. an ideal small town morning. that time of year still had that strange bliss to it then, where school is functionally over and you're basically just showing up to hang out. life's carefree and there's only good things going on and more to look forward to. entire childhoods fit in those few weeks; at least, the proper stuff that childhoods are made of.

a mild winter abruptly gave way to a premature and liberating solstice that year (in the South, the de facto beginning of summer can come as early as April). we were all running a little freer than we might otherwise do, spirited by something as unknown to us as it was intimate. we might have stayed at that Waffle House all day or walked the interstate and figured it out from there. the pictures agree; cameras were a little more honest then, documenting rather than dictating.

coincidence, always insured, called closing time on our breakfast; our money ran out and my dad called. we weren't in trouble, but he was coming to get us. we stepped outside and met him almost immediately. once in the backseat, he told us what happened and took us home. my other brothers stared as I walked in. I don't know how long I laid on my bed; young, familiar, grown, unknown. I made it back outside and went to school. halls are empty. 4th period, literature, near noon. me and two other people in there. once again lyrics and presence are made befuddlingly real. I'm not on the outside looking in, I'm not on the inside looking out. I'm in the dead fucking middle. thinking, wondering, worrying, waiting. passing three years by in one seat.

they got back, took their seats. I don't remember what I did, in that class or the next. maybe I talked to them. maybe I didn't. maybe I made em laugh, maybe I didn’t. all I know is that it took so long I forgot for a moment. it wasn't until we were leaving for lunch. I left the room and when I came back, there they were, propped up on the desks. silent, motionless. thinking, wondering, hurting. they knew. I went for a hug, and then the inevitable. we were in the library, ad-hoc. if the weight of everything was too great to carry on elsewhere, you went there. expectations were left at the door; it just cost your innocence.

I found my spot against the front desk, still warm. hardly spoke. looks were enough. kids don't hurt like that, and adults can take a stance on it. we got stuck, uprooted, buried, disillusioned, and impassioned. our age, we could feel everything, just couldn't process it. couldn't express it. couldn't.

focusing, I saw him. across from me, at the table. squalling, reaching, grasping, shaking. it broke him. seventy years lay ahead and he'd lost it all. we'd lost our second friend. it was too much. our age, we were finding ourselves out. death was antithetical. when the world is first opening up to you, finding out it can end you, and you can end you, is too much. he knew they were gone, gone. memories slipping from grey matter to grey matter, personality erased permanently. there was nothing to do.

I barely saw him; my eyes dart. in that moment, I felt it, briefly and intensely. propped against that desk, early May, I flashed back to January, a few months earlier, where I saw him go through the same grief after our first friend took their own life. in an instant, I relived that first experience, simultaneously going through a new one. too much. I disconnected. the wave of emotion, processing, and disassociation I experienced is unlike and unmatched by anything else I've ever experienced. in my childhood home, I felt the pang of death twice, cementing life’s corruption. with all that new knowledge, I didn't know anything. you don't walk through hell to start over; we can't all be sisyphus. sisyphus is only happy if he's sisyphus; we must imagine him lonely. not throwing seams to the abyss, coming undone. five years later, and I might have.

https://i.imgur.com/uoxmyWK.jpg

I wrote this review of a Windows 98 commercial for a class this summer and think it fits the theme of internet history, which JP cites as inspiration/purpose for this website in the "About" section. Also fits the theme of my page.

Growing up, I watched old computer commercials on YouTube; other than just being a weird kid, I found them interesting and even inspiring. The creative styles were eclectic, and most of these commercials focused on the new horizons that one could explore with computers, and how computers themselves were engines of progress. Of course, I wasn't explicitly aware of the symbolism at the time, but it certainly made an impact on me. For a kid who lived in a town of five hundred, few friends, and fewer ideas, my early worldview was partially made by this tech-centered exposure.

The commercial starts by asking "Where do you want to go today?", before jumping into a smorgasbord display of all that Windows 98 is capable of; wherever you want to go, Windows 98 can take you there. Space travel, ancient history, foreign languages, gaming, simulations, chat rooms, visual arts, music, world events, productivity, and the Internet are all a part of the Windows 98 experience, and by extension, the brave new digital world. The commercial doesn't simply offer a practical product to help the consumer keep up with the winds of change, but rather, offers them a vessel through which they can plunge headfirst into the new age. Windows 98 isn't just for the businessperson in their office, Windows 98 is for the new Renaissance Man, who uses the miracle of computing technology and the Internet for enrichment and exploration. In this view, Windows 98 is as much an end as it is a means. Perhaps this is why the only people shown actually using Windows 98 are children; when you use Windows 98, you become just as avid a learner and explorer as you were when you were learning colors and shapes. Sure, you may know about life now that you're an adult, but have you seen it through the lens of Windows 98? Can you appreciate the wealth of information and knowledge available on the Internet? Are you aware that your library, record collection, studio, arcade, and more can all fit in this 3x1x3 metal box?

Along with the branding, the message is clear; computer technology offers an unparalleled and previously inconceivable opportunity to explore, interact with, and learn about the world, as well as to push the boundaries of what one can do with their time and resources. What's more, this experience isn't simply a condensing or streamlining of the world as it is. Computing technology (particularly the Internet) is a new world in and of itself, and partaking in it is to step into a new side of oneself.

Since I was nine, if I've ever had a question, the Internet has been there for me, and I have developed numerous valuable interests that I likely wouldn't have found without internet access. Internet forums and content hubs were just as influential in forming my tastes and beliefs, if not more so, as TV and other conventional forms of media. Today, the Internet isn't just somewhere I go if I need something answered or want to waste an hour, it's a part of who I am, as it is for many others my age. This means that I'm comfortable navigating digital spaces and maintaining digital presences, and understand digital phenomena just as much through intuition as I do with study. However, this also means that I can sometimes struggle with exploration and personal growth outside of the internet. This isn't an issue now, but for a few years in high school, I really struggled to bring my internet interests and personality into mesh with my real life self, and this is an issue that, as mentioned earlier, many other people my age struggle with. Furthermore, many struggle to treat the Internet with the "respect" it deserves, since many people's interaction with it is separated from real life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jij5Nzh2Sj4

been meaning to write here for a couple of days now. I'm glad there are only ten blog posts, 40,960 characters; I don't intend on deleting anything, so it makes me choose my words.

I intended to make this account a perpetual WIP, but after getting the custom cursor to work (thank you y2k), I can't bring myself to change a thing. I've spent hours just sitting and staring at my page. not out of egoism or pride-I didn't do anything impressive or creative-but because I've made a little corner of peace that is simultaneously personal to me yet separate from anything I've done.

in short, this page is a relic of my growing up, a snapshot of a teenager put into HTML via lossy compression. the imagery comes from posters, projects, and basements. the warm months of 2014 were the first and last time I was myself, and I've scrubbed pixels and scoured pages to bring something back from then, utterly unaware of what I'd find. I made an ode to the past and received a reply.

I'm an avid scrapbooker, records keeper, and memory holder; I am no stranger to curated, applied nostalgia. this site, however, is different. on tumblr, it was a corner of my own, but one that I was continually and wholly present in. the me you encountered on tumblr was a real time, server-side person. I followed personal diatribes with mindless comments on ramen noodles and camisado; my tumblr presence was conversational, a fitful stream of meta-consciousness. you may have been lonely, but you were never alone. tumblr was a place to be, and ultimately, a place to leave.

here, though, personage is different; presence isn't required. for many of the pages here, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and existence alone is an enduring expression. not expressions of people, though; of people, there are only glimpses. sure, I may write long ass posts, but no significant degree of personality comes across, no human connection. wisdom may help, but there's only so much to tease out from these blogs. getting everything down only gets you where you started. rather, we're self-replicating graffiti, clinging to the wall while commentating on our own oblivion; there's nothing more to we than the strokes you read and paint you see. what do you see?
https://64.media.tumblr.com/cd40ae0e7dbae896774bcae37650d912/tumblr_pcuvhduj191tvmbxgo1_1280.jpg

I'm not sure how long this site will stick around; JP's gotta be worried about server costs, maintenance, moderation, and l/e/g/a/l issues if this gets too big. especially with no ads. I can't imagine him bringing anyone on; recreations like this don't turn out well if the original vision is tampered with in any way. he'd have to retain full control. that's part of why the original myspace died. it was a regular company then, and one held to the whims of the public. the social-creative aspect only worked because the larger casual userbase provided a foundation; as long as the "casuals" used classic myspace, it would stay that way, because that's where the money was and how it stayed afloat. vibrant as the creatives were, traffic is what funded websites. so, what will happen this time? too many users to support independently, but not enough to make it sustainable? I can't imagine JP going to the current model of social media funding, data selling. that'd be the ultimate kind of corruption.

doesn't matter for now, though. enjoy it while it lasts. maybe that's better; have a relatively brief period of activity then let it die of natural causes, just like before. maybe then we'll all realize that the past is the past for a reason, that we didn't grow up on accident. that it wasn't a cruel twist of fate that pushed us out of those digital days, stripped some of what they call home.

if there really was something special or valuable about those days, then consider it instructive. take what existed then, what you cherished, what you miss, what you love, and carry it with you. because lessons are to be learned.

https://64.media.tumblr.com/ef7fd96b3c6ece939797c016302205b4/a56efe9cf20fef66-31/s540x810/cd71288939a2de59adb1097eb28a56ac94d80349.jpg

feels weird not doing this on tumblr. watching all the gifs flicker to the side, community, knowing they'd see it. to 13/14 year old me it was one of the first times I really felt like I was a part of something. there was still the feeling of having jumped in while something was already going on, but it wasn't as severe, and I was able to do stuff on my own. oh how I've always wanted to create. and, more importantly, being there with my friends. there was something so intimate about that new post button. hell, the modern amenities were nice too. who knew we'd come to refer to websites as our parents do hotels or cars? maybe it was the "private" option. how ridiculous is that; posting privately on an account that maybe five people actually read. I regret deleting my old blog. I lost a lot of stuff I didn't intend to; thought I'd backed it up. impulsive.

nevertheless, things change, I guess. nothing to really say in this first post, it's just a matter of ticking off a box. "present". I hope I find a voice like I did before. diaries are better digital. lay your head down and let the wires run with your hair.

https://64.media.tumblr.com/0fe87f9a58c042328c09e3bbf2f0298b/e0f7792d2d44802b-a7/s400x600/36ebb0efb225a5a6bacccee3b313ea97107dd744.gifv