In honor of Rosella, I will make a concerted effort to provide more reflections for the consumption of those with access to the internet. Every little thing appearing on the internet, having been recorded by something digital, makes for a bewildering bitsphere composed of content, half-intentional and half-unintentional, etched in databits for all eternity.
From the depths of your mind thoughts surface, half-intentional and half-unintentional, and return to the eternity of the depths unless you record them through a) another human via conversation, b) a concrete medium – ink or color picture, mold a clay, chop wood, cook, play music, or c) a recorded medium – written word, audio record, video record, which can become the internet.
Presumably some of your thoughts want to stay around, and others want to Return to the Mother (the cosmic Void) and cease to exist. The memory is a search engine, into the moist darkness of one’s soul, an OGLE MY SOUL rather than a GOOGLE THE ELECTRONIC STREETS. Sometimes a memory search of the soul remembers a thought, sometimes the thought is gone for good. The recorded medium by contrast has an eidetic memory. Internet technology is the fastest yet method by which the passing bits of your soul can be perfectly permanently recorded. Public and permanent, Secret and Sacred become Profaned, so how is information to be conveyed?
We all have to ask this every time we put anything onto the net, yet how can we know the answer? It’s my individual discretion. And sometimes, my heart pours out, capturing my soul, but my discretion must decide what part of my soul is fit for the public. (Or I have no choice at all because someone else controls the recording device.) The safest place to store your private thoughts is your Soul. You must have faith that your Memory, the only possible search engine for your soul, is superior to any computer, that for some reason God prefers this search engine, the most flawed one in the universe, to any recording device.
Did you think that I was gonna give it up to you, this time?
Did you think that It was somethin I was gonna do and cry?
Don’t try to tell me what to do, Dont try to tell me what to say,
Your better off that way Better off that way
I’m better off alone anyway – Avril Lavigne, Don’t Tell Me