No, I am not dead
Fear not! ForI have not perished. Instead I have been engaged in the most difficult task for a modern day man. Yes - living without the internet.
Of course, the fact that I am writing here at all is an indication of my abject failure. But for a few glorious months, I tasted freedom - the joys of not checking your emails every half and hour, only to find it full of spam about invasive surgery and money laundering; the delights of not feeling compelled to look up stupid and misleading nonsense on wikipedia; the thrills of socialising with real people rather than anonymous 'friends' (that is to say, strangers) on Facebook. Instead I wandered, lamb-like, through the countryside, saying 'Good Morning' to every man and beast I met, indulging in the simple pleasures of the bracing walk, the rotting animal carcasses in the road, the appalling stenches, the desperate scramble home in the dark with no flashlight, the panic-stricken screaming on the hill-side at one-in-the-morning, the emotional rescue by the mountain patrol, the arguments with the same emergency services over the precise definition of the word 'timewaster', the tearful return home, the consumption of vast quantities of alcoholic beverages, the drunken collapse by the fireside and the consequent minor burns.
Enthused by the lifestyle of yesteryear, I composed a beautiful poem:
In the city, I am defined by my internet connection,
But the country is much better for the complexion.
So to the Earth I bow down in genuflection,
'Til it's bulldozed for a motorway intersection.
As you can see, it's quite sublime and an honest appraisal of my capabilities.
But to return to the point. My time away was a revelation, not least because I gradually came to realise what a loser I was, writing a blog that no one cares about. Have I received one message of support or enthusiam over the last few months? One single question or indecent proposition from a fan? No. Well, that's just fine, because now I'm liberated from the internet, unlike you. Yes, you, reading this rant: get back to your fairweather facebook mates, you pathetic creature, back to the mindlessness of emailing peoplewho work three metres away, back to posting absolute drivel in blogs that no-one will read. I'm better than all of you. I'm not addicted, I'm in control. I'm a Poet, a country-dweller, a Sophisticated Man of Quality. And if you don't like if you can fuck right off.
Fear not! ForI have not perished. Instead I have been engaged in the most difficult task for a modern day man. Yes - living without the internet.
Of course, the fact that I am writing here at all is an indication of my abject failure. But for a few glorious months, I tasted freedom - the joys of not checking your emails every half and hour, only to find it full of spam about invasive surgery and money laundering; the delights of not feeling compelled to look up stupid and misleading nonsense on wikipedia; the thrills of socialising with real people rather than anonymous 'friends' (that is to say, strangers) on Facebook. Instead I wandered, lamb-like, through the countryside, saying 'Good Morning' to every man and beast I met, indulging in the simple pleasures of the bracing walk, the rotting animal carcasses in the road, the appalling stenches, the desperate scramble home in the dark with no flashlight, the panic-stricken screaming on the hill-side at one-in-the-morning, the emotional rescue by the mountain patrol, the arguments with the same emergency services over the precise definition of the word 'timewaster', the tearful return home, the consumption of vast quantities of alcoholic beverages, the drunken collapse by the fireside and the consequent minor burns.
Enthused by the lifestyle of yesteryear, I composed a beautiful poem:
In the city, I am defined by my internet connection,
But the country is much better for the complexion.
So to the Earth I bow down in genuflection,
'Til it's bulldozed for a motorway intersection.
As you can see, it's quite sublime and an honest appraisal of my capabilities.
But to return to the point. My time away was a revelation, not least because I gradually came to realise what a loser I was, writing a blog that no one cares about. Have I received one message of support or enthusiam over the last few months? One single question or indecent proposition from a fan? No. Well, that's just fine, because now I'm liberated from the internet, unlike you. Yes, you, reading this rant: get back to your fairweather facebook mates, you pathetic creature, back to the mindlessness of emailing peoplewho work three metres away, back to posting absolute drivel in blogs that no-one will read. I'm better than all of you. I'm not addicted, I'm in control. I'm a Poet, a country-dweller, a Sophisticated Man of Quality. And if you don't like if you can fuck right off.
posted by dadfield | 1:21 PM
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