Bandwidth is an essentially human problem.
But in the human context, it is called "focus". Use up all the available bandwidth, and you are "distracted".
And how many people wish that they were T-1s instead of DSL? How many people believe that they will be able to compensate for lack of bandwidth by having a moral superiority complex or a "deep sense of conviction"?
Multitasking is a symptom of arrogance. Focus is the key to achieving calm and purpose. Is the goal to have less bandwidth or fewer downloads at a time? A smaller pipe allows for less throughput, but disciplined action is the efficient use of whatever resources that are available.
I suppose that the principle is the key, rather than the byproduct of the material functionality.
Process before product. Principle before process.
2.13.2002
2.13.2002
2.13.2002
2.01.2002
2.01.2002
2.01.2002
today has been visually surreal...
ever had the feeling as if you could look out the window and be actually looking at life from your own eyes? as if there was a core you, an actual person that is sitting inside your head looking out?
everything seemed as if it was existing outside of me. standing on the street corner, waiting for the light to change, it would seem as if the scene laid out in front of me was happening independent of my existence. i could been invisible and nothing would have changed -- as if my corporeal self didn't register in the three dimensions.
that's life sometimes... a natural trip, no explanations.
"squatter's hut"=apartment shared by myself, my brother, mom and dad. keep this in mind.
so a couple of days ago, i was in the squatters' hut [that i don't call home]. bored, i made my way back to the bedroom that i share with my brother -- two separate beds but not enough space for either of us. he had just finished cleaning up his side of the room, rearranging all of the stuff that he keeps into a semi-order. insight: he is the sort of person that spreads his belongings anywhere that he feels comfortable. sloppy, with a year-old calendar of frank lloyd wright architecture languishing on the wall.
so he has just finished "cleaning up" and i move to sit on the floor, where my laptop computer sits. as i lowered myself to the finished wood surface, i heard a distinct kind of *crunch* in the vicinity of my right hand and knew immediately what had happened. "shiiit", i muttered under my breath. i had put the palm of my right hand down on a shard of glass that was left over from my brother's recent homemaking revelation. as i stood up and examined the aftermath, i saw that there was a v-shaped opening in the skin, a tear that continued about a centimeter-deep into my hand on a diagonal slant. curious, i parted the open slit of the wound, hoping to assess the full extent before it started to bleed too much to see clearly. it was then that i noticed that the shard of glass had burrowed itself into my hand and was still sitting there, partially embraced by the skin and flesh around it.
hmmmm.... deciding that now is definitely better than later, i massaged the glass out of the wound, and it tentatively emerged over the span of a few seconds. i said to myself "i might have to go to the hospital for this one," seeing that the wound was indeed deep, deeper than my original guess. as i coaxed the last of the glass out of my hand, my brother walked in and was immediately nonplussed by what he saw. i walked out of the room and spoke to my dad about the puncture in my right hand, located in the center about an inch-an-a-half above the base of the hand. it was the first time i had spoken to him in about a year in anything other than an argument.
we cleaned the wound under running water and swabbed it out with hydrogen peroxide. more blood than pain, but puncture wounds don't bleed profusely, so there was not much drama. something i found amusing: later, my brother told me that as i walked out of the room, having recently dug the glass out of my hand, he saw something fall from the wound. after picking up the glass fragment, he picked up the "something" that i had left behind in my search for medical assistance. that something was a chunk of skin and flesh. he threw it away; i wish i could have seen it... a piece of my physical self that had been cut away. but then, i'm the same person who found the blood being drawn from my arm in the hospital to be fascinating, so that kind of thing draws me, i guess... perversion is such fun ;)
and afterward, i remember that reality was a bit skewed then as well... everything seemed smaller, although the focus was as sharp as usual. the cut on my hand, blood coagulating around the wound, the hand itself, the immediate background behind my hand, everything in the room. ah, endorphins. nothing like a hole in the hand to stimulate emergency hormone releases! at least that's my hypothetical explanation of the loss of spatial acuity. or maybe it was something else.
audio: pagan poetry.bjork
relax [ak1200 remix].keoki
ever had the feeling as if you could look out the window and be actually looking at life from your own eyes? as if there was a core you, an actual person that is sitting inside your head looking out?
everything seemed as if it was existing outside of me. standing on the street corner, waiting for the light to change, it would seem as if the scene laid out in front of me was happening independent of my existence. i could been invisible and nothing would have changed -- as if my corporeal self didn't register in the three dimensions.
that's life sometimes... a natural trip, no explanations.
"squatter's hut"=apartment shared by myself, my brother, mom and dad. keep this in mind.
so a couple of days ago, i was in the squatters' hut [that i don't call home]. bored, i made my way back to the bedroom that i share with my brother -- two separate beds but not enough space for either of us. he had just finished cleaning up his side of the room, rearranging all of the stuff that he keeps into a semi-order. insight: he is the sort of person that spreads his belongings anywhere that he feels comfortable. sloppy, with a year-old calendar of frank lloyd wright architecture languishing on the wall.
so he has just finished "cleaning up" and i move to sit on the floor, where my laptop computer sits. as i lowered myself to the finished wood surface, i heard a distinct kind of *crunch* in the vicinity of my right hand and knew immediately what had happened. "shiiit", i muttered under my breath. i had put the palm of my right hand down on a shard of glass that was left over from my brother's recent homemaking revelation. as i stood up and examined the aftermath, i saw that there was a v-shaped opening in the skin, a tear that continued about a centimeter-deep into my hand on a diagonal slant. curious, i parted the open slit of the wound, hoping to assess the full extent before it started to bleed too much to see clearly. it was then that i noticed that the shard of glass had burrowed itself into my hand and was still sitting there, partially embraced by the skin and flesh around it.
hmmmm.... deciding that now is definitely better than later, i massaged the glass out of the wound, and it tentatively emerged over the span of a few seconds. i said to myself "i might have to go to the hospital for this one," seeing that the wound was indeed deep, deeper than my original guess. as i coaxed the last of the glass out of my hand, my brother walked in and was immediately nonplussed by what he saw. i walked out of the room and spoke to my dad about the puncture in my right hand, located in the center about an inch-an-a-half above the base of the hand. it was the first time i had spoken to him in about a year in anything other than an argument.
we cleaned the wound under running water and swabbed it out with hydrogen peroxide. more blood than pain, but puncture wounds don't bleed profusely, so there was not much drama. something i found amusing: later, my brother told me that as i walked out of the room, having recently dug the glass out of my hand, he saw something fall from the wound. after picking up the glass fragment, he picked up the "something" that i had left behind in my search for medical assistance. that something was a chunk of skin and flesh. he threw it away; i wish i could have seen it... a piece of my physical self that had been cut away. but then, i'm the same person who found the blood being drawn from my arm in the hospital to be fascinating, so that kind of thing draws me, i guess... perversion is such fun ;)
and afterward, i remember that reality was a bit skewed then as well... everything seemed smaller, although the focus was as sharp as usual. the cut on my hand, blood coagulating around the wound, the hand itself, the immediate background behind my hand, everything in the room. ah, endorphins. nothing like a hole in the hand to stimulate emergency hormone releases! at least that's my hypothetical explanation of the loss of spatial acuity. or maybe it was something else.
audio: pagan poetry.bjork
relax [ak1200 remix].keoki
2/01/2002 01:30:00 AM
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)