The Internet of the future

The Internet is a wonderful thing. Always changing, it is hard to tell what will become of it in twenty years time. We have allowed our in-house futurology expert to take a look at the current forecasts, and these are his predictions:

• Every man will have his own hovercraft web server
• Google will have moved their head office to a domed base on the moon
• There will be no need for blogs; special pills will provide you with your daily dose of blatant self-absorbedness.
• Your spam will keep you informed about the latest developement in android lovedolls.
• Wireless LAN in every Spacebucks café in orbit.
• Say goodbye to Nigeria Scams! The next thing is JUPITER scams!
• Nuclear powered 56k modems.
• You will have a humanoid robot that sorts spam from your email inbox.
• When the FBI breaks down your door after you've illegaly downloaded music via BitTorrent, they will be equipped with laser guns.

I Have Fiddled With The Comments

Administrative Mucking-About

The comments box is now a popup. This is because testing shows it to be (in my opinion) a somewhat less ugly page, and also doesn't navigate you away from the blog itself. So, yeah. Any dissenters, feel free to change it back; there's a radio button thingy in the Comment Settings.

I won't say "blogosphere"

I don't post nearly as much as I want to here, and I don't work on my comic nearly enough, so I got another blog for not posting about not drawing comics.

(At first I forgot to add the link)

I also created it to try out Wordpress for free before I decide to download it for free. I never try out things that I'm going to pay for. I sometimes buy books that I wouldn't even consider borrowing from the library. I'm funny like that.

Blogosphere

...is the stupidest damn word ever.

There. I said it.

A Brief Miscellany

Performing Our Weblog Duties

This is a mad neat map of one of the Auld Londons. Post-fire, but at that resolution I'll take what I get. Note the church of Marylebone near the upper left corner.

Acquire a fine messaging client for the Mac here. It comes highly recommended by yours truly, courtesy of the estimable Mr. Fade.

Finally, I read this the other evening, and it creeped me the hell out. I have no idea why, looking back on it it seems inexplicable, but there you go. Still interesting, I think.
While I'm at it, I'm also depositing Everything₂ in the sidebar, because it rocks monkeys. (Monkies?)

Oh, and Orisinal goes in the sidebar too.

Truth in advertising

“Once you’ve read the first sentence”, the blurb proudly boasted, “you won’t be able to put the book down.”

In the end they had to amputate both my hands.

Fish Gods

As blatantly stolen from an idea of Kusch's

• Deep in the trench of Atlan vast Kombacha wades knee-deep in the tall kelp forests, bubbly thoughts aswirl, as natural to all around it as is the forest itself. Nothing knows it from a mountain, no, not the very whales that venture to its depths, nor the landmen watching through their magic eyes in the upper air: and who amongst these oblivious, hurried beings, tiny as krill if yet whale they be, knows aught but that a mountain should walk? Its ponderous treads beget earthquakes.
  
• Implacable, regular as the tides, Shom-Nahak hunts the hot mountains of the East Pacific. Its knife-form clouded by a court of sharks, wheresoever it raids hot tears are wept, small, slowly falling orbs of sweet water staining the buoyant salt. Sharp as jagged coral is the scaly skin of Shom-Nahak.
• Speaking the name is a curse. It feeds, you see, on sense. Its visage, its gaze are endless thrashing madness. Its home is secret. Who knows what streams it swims? Nothing that ever saw it could tell you so. But....one can guess. There are places in the ocean where nothing goes. There are waters that have lain empty longer than the continents have been separated — and no wonder, when even a minnow's feeble mind suffices to cower in terror at it; when even the name is a curse so fierce that even thinking it is forbidden: and that horrid name is Hrou.
  
• Bagro-Hem sleeps, glorious in comfort. The Aleutian Trench is his home, a soon-volcano is his bed: when it erupts, it will not harm him. It will be too small. Clouds of bubbles rise from his myriad vents, intoxicating all the schooling swimmers small and large: hallucinogenerated prophet-fish who speak to no-one of their visions.
  
• Limpugi Gan is the Blessing of the Deep Places. All the life of the Indian Sea gathers about Limpugi Gan. It radiates constant, gentle heat; a soft, moonish light; a soothing current. Constantly it sheds its skin, sloughing it off in large, vitalizing globs: the multitudes about it consume them and are remade, renewed, the same but stronger, larger. When the new skin is peeled forth it has already begun to curl up. There is no other being that suffers as Limpugi Gan suffers, endlessly wasting away.
  

Music

Okay, everyone has that one thing they bury themselves in when things get tough, right? /.../ So this month I want you to write a tribute to whatever your thing is, praising it, thanking it, whatever.
-- Alchera 39, option 2

1.
I would find
the shape of music, the pattern,
and I would walk in darkness
with a song as my lantern.

2.
Reality's blank spaces
were painted into new things
by the colours I could hear,
unknown and fleeting.

3.
Silence is a precious flower
poisoning the blood.
Music! Save a silent heart
that needs to be disturbed.