When I first had access to the internet, there weren't any pictures or graphics. There weren't any colors, either. It was a white screen with black text in that super computery font, and I had to use the arrow keys and function buttons to get around. I don't even know what kind of browser I had back then. I didn't use it for much but research for papers, and I probably went first to the page my college had set up for our emails.

Yes, I also took classes in a cave, by the light of seal blubber candles.

Do you think in a few years this question will be dated, because everyone won't remember not having "got" the internet?

More postings soon. Lots happening in Jess' real life, these days...
   

I just answered this Featured Question, you can answer it too!

I think I’ll be glad when this contest is over. I’ve been of two minds about my participation in it from the beginning (as anyone who has actually read my inconsistent prose about it would know). I think I sent out two mass messages at the beginning...that felt tacky and dumb. I know most of my subscribers could care two figs about popularity contests, anyway.

I did give the judges a couple of things to smile about. Hopefully, that’s between me and them, but if it isn’t, well, it’s nothing you couldn’t find by looking through my archives. Except for the musical theatre. That’s private, damn it.

So, now I’m supposed to go ‘round to who knows who and plead for acknowledgement. That I haven’t done. Well, I did one, half-kiddingly-like, at the end of a real comment, and got my hand slapped for it. Apparently I’m a xanga whore, these days.

Actually what I got in response was: “I’m totally not okay with your shameless self-promotion these days.” See, now, that deserves a bit of examination, because if you’ve been privy to any of my comment exchanges over the last few days, you would know that self-promotion’s got nothing to do with it. On Memorial Day, I told a soldier in Iraq that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. Then yesterday, I spent my xanga-time upbraiding assholes who don’t know how to tip properly. That’s me: Ms. Popularity.

Really, as I said before, I thought that this would help me write more. Which it has. So, bully for me, and all that. But as for making new friends…well…maybe I’ve made a few. But I think I’ve made as many enemies as friends, so perhaps that’s a wash. Any of you new subscribers gonna watch my back for me?

On a totally unrelated note, I spent an excruciating evening tonight at the Town Planning Meeting. See, we’re trying to build a train station in town, a project which in theory I totally support. Except that the plan has some serious holes, relating to the gargantuan hotel they plan to put up, and the serious lack of parking. So, I go, and sit…and sit…hours of droning self-important assholes later, it’s time for the public nutball comments. Finally I gave up and left, and had to bike home in the dark, hungry for food and local government that makes sense.

And if you made it this far, I wish you goodnight.

I’m here to write. To make scratches that outline my life, my thoughts. To stack cairns that point a path through ideas. To build discernment through words, letter by letter, and perhaps knock it down again with yet another word. I’m here to make myself known, or to glue the blue-green feathers on the mask of my latest costume. I see this page mostly blank, and myself full of feeling. A flutter of thoughts and fingers, and it’s me that’s left blank, and the page plentiful.

I’m here to write. The impulse towards creation is fierce and continuous. I wake from dreams with songs half remembered humming in my head. Walking down the street, washing the dishes, or on line at the bank, pieces of poetry come to me uncalled. In me is called up half of a story, word fragments like glass shards cutting through the everyday, tossing me to my daydreams. I have no defense against these siren songs, except to write them down, to rid my brain of their incessant insistence, that into these forms I breathe life.

I’m here to write, but I’m also here to read. I come to ponder, to taste the offerings left at these many altars, to digest them in my time, and perhaps, if I’m moved, to leave my own response in return. Your words feed me, as I hope mine do you. The poetry, the songs, the rants, the realizations – reading these strengthens my resolve, stirs me up, inspires me. Sometimes I read your words as a mirror to my own thoughts, and sometimes the words press up against the edges of my walled world, forcing me to look over to the other side. Whatever the reason you have for writing them, and regardless of my reaction, I see them as gifts, and I thank you for them.

And of course, I’m here to be read. My thoughts swirl daily down the currents of my mind, often lost before they have a chance to surface as something more permanent. I fish in the eddies, net in hand to catch what floats close enough to my grasping hands. I bring the silver fish and panned gold to the scales here, to be weighed not by me, for who has it in them to view their own creations with any objectivity? No, my pearls I lay out here, for swine and other noble beasts, with fingers crossed I lay them out, to be treasured or torn apart.

Sometimes, what I offer is instead ignored, left like the detritus of a storm amongst the broken umbrellas and tree limbs. The heart pours out in anticipation of a response, and receives nothing but the echo of its own beating in the dark. I toss these words into the ether and find only the abyss staring back. Those sometimes are enough to make one crawl deep under covers and quilts, shades drawn, eyes shut.

There is pain in my mysteries remaining anonymous, because I long for acceptance, continuance, and community. I seek out that which will respond to me, and reflect at me a changed vision of my own. I want kindness and praise, but more, I want effect. I want to see my grand schemes and terrible nightmares fly out and find a target, or many. I want to see what comes flying back. I want to feel the ricochet of emotion that occurs when I have truly touched something, even a nerve.

But I never wanted to campaign for adoration. The little I’ve done has left my hands feeling sticky, and my stomach a bit churned. I want my words read by others, otherwise they would be written in a real diary, under my pillow, safe from your eyes. No, I put my prose, and thus myself, here in view of anyone who would look. But I never went in search of simple applause, leaving my mark only to cajole someone back to this spot, until now. I never sent others to do the same for me, until now.

And you know what? It doesn’t ring true. If you come here because you’ve heard about me on some other site, that’s great. But I’m certainly not going to go over to where you speak your piece, simply to pressure you into an act of camaraderie. I want readers who are honestly drawn to read my words, not hustled into it. I want readers who expect something of value from me, not just platitudes and base humor dressed up in bright colors. I want readers whose standards make me strive towards a more brilliant and exposing light.

Of course, I have them. I have wonderful, engaged, intelligent readers who support me and stimulate me and encourage me. I have cultivated over the last 3 years a network of bloggers that astounds me in its diversity and talent. I fling nonsense and crazy and marvelous ridiculousness at them, and they give back full strength. It’s splendid reciprocation, and I’m very blessed in my outlets.

I feel I have touched, grazed a pulse that lies just under the skin. I have reached out for inspiration, ever a shaky endeavor, and found seeds to cultivate. I’ve marked out my sacred circle here and woven my spells. I’ve taken stands, I’ve shared dreams, and I’ve worked out that persistent itch in me to create. Whatever the future holds for these works, or those endeavors I nuture in the world proper, I am satisfied with the attempt.

Because, in the final assessment, I’m really just here to write.

Short Footnote for elucidation:

This is my latest offering for ABF's Idol Contest. You can visit the judges sites:

TheTheologiansCafe
Cakalusa
TheBlackspiderman
DrugInducedDuck
Seargent_Peppers (only vote on her chatboard)

I would like to win this contest. Mmmm…premium. Plus, I’m sure I would garner readership would never find me, otherwise. However, I’m no cheerleader. Well, I was a cheerleader for one year, and I was terrible at it. People laughed, and pointed. I think I’ll stick to what I’m here for, the consequences be damned.

Now, that doesn’t mean I’m backing out of all this. This contest has done what I wanted it to…encourage me to write more. So I figure I’ll see it through. But I have this inkling that there is a strong movement in favor of one or two candidates at this point, and I have neither the time, the energy, nor the desire to try to change the tide. Seems like an awful lot of energy just to get sand up your nose.

You can all recommend and star me, if you like what I write. If you feel moved to, you can go and vote (and I for one think voting in general is very important. Use your voices, people!). But no more wheedling from me. I promise. I’d rather spend my time here on the important stuff.