Middle Youth
What happened when little was happening.
124 Posts, 1 Link
What happened when little was happening.
A gloomy gus amidst the upstate snow.
Coming to the city, and what I found there.
Stories about my grandfather, whom I wish was still here.
This is how the business section of the newspaper sounds to me. You?
Going to the doctor for the first time in 5 years.
The protagonist in denial.
What we talk about when we look at boats.
In which I rip off Phil K. Dick, and ask, indirectly: if the Nazis had won, would we have Linux?
Sorting through the sounds of words.
What’s the news from New York’s hottest economic zone?
A mass-etymological breakdown tool that I’d create if I could, but I can’t.
Ideas for web projects, stories, or approaches to cultural understanding which I’d love to implement and make available if I had the time, or brains.
The mighty Polysemizer, making sure all the words are widely known.
A possible tool to figure out where the accents are.
Lines stretched from 512 to 718.
Herein find containted the official copyright statement of Ftrain.com
With the advent of the web, there appear to be two parallel tracks for the development of content and ideas.
Jim Hightower encapsulates the horror of big money politics in a few paragraphs.
From John Kenneth Galbraith’s The Anatomy of Power, Houghton Mifflin, pp. 4-6.
An extremely clear definition, from Booknotes, 1994
A section from The Mayor of Casterbridge that summarizes Hardy’s historical vision - a mix of architectural, archeological, and human history, which humans ignore to their ignorant doom or observe to their eternal sadness. The beginning of Chapter 11, typed in from the Penguin Edition.
Who has perpetrated this monstrosity?
More on the author.
A virtuouso lambast of consumption culture from Lewis Lapham.
Selling shoes through violence, and death.
Image from 1996
Cover of the Combined Effect Non-magazine, 1996
Another project gone and done for.
Odd image from 1997
Image from 1995
Images of Past Projects Gone Wrong
An old logo for my very self, now retired.
Scanned Image from 1995
Image from 1996
I have absolutely no recollection why I created this image.
Image from 1996
Image from 1995
A sketch from 1997
A resume of sorts—proof that I’m not just making it all up.
Results of a a brainstorming session.
Ftrain.com rolling forwards.
Ford motor company has damaged my brand equity, so I’m suing. This is, for those who have a little trouble with the concept and have seen fit to send me death threats, a joke.
Official, certified statement intended for the audience of Ftrain.com.
This is what Ftrain.com looks like to web-browsing sparrows, as they fly hundreds of feet above a terrain of pure data, wearing tiny virtual-reality helmets tuned to display only alphanumeric characters, and GIF graphics.
Ftrain.com rolling backwards.
The author comes out of his closet full of books.
Cookery and love, love, love
Ftrain.com is a a collection of interlinked pages, with text, graphics, and links to other digitally encoded media objects.
A media memory palace; a place to put oddments and scraps; a notebook of cuts and slices, protected under fair use.
Fictional narratives of varying quality.
Ideas about stories, and narratives. Often vague, due to the author’s stunning ignorance.
Fun-time word-activities in American English.
Little Tools for Foolish Wordplay.
Various imaginary tales.
Because that’s where life is lived.
Professor Lanham's snazzy business. Good inspiration for Zairja.
Who does this thing?
A non-answer to the question: what is cognitive rhetoric?
Each time I check the Web, I expect bombing.
I’m trying to unrust my chops, so I wrote down some thoughts on the RNC. It’s hard to connect ideas; I’m struggling with the words.
Relaunching the Web site.
Ask an idiot a simple question, and see what happens.
For summer days and sweet romance.
Good Morning America.
What is it like upon the Brooklyn Bridge, summarized in two paragraphs?
The spot below the bridge where they shoot the models.
I took myself out to dinner, and we sat down and he interviewed me.
In my modern era, love begins with diagnostics.
Darn tootin! The rawer the better!
Originally I wasn’t going to put anything up, but it seemed almost twisted not to pay off the poor bastards who dealt with the silly decision tree.
And I’ve got feathers on my naked parts!
And your paycheck is now just a dream.
I am just a young’n.
An example of a decision tree.
Independent sections show up on their own lines, indented, with their blurbs printed right below.
This is an example of an inline section
And Adam doesn’t know me either.
And never ask me again!
Focusing the narrative on its geographical heart.
It’s hard to reach out.
You don’t own me, although I am another on of your little toys.
Short bio of the author of Ftrain.com, written by OCTAVE9, a computerized expert system
The end is near.
I was just fucking with people here, writing nonsense, talking crazy talk.
Middling writing about a nice day.
I is an intellectual type, when I don’t watch myself. Ah well.
It’s the box, in your brain, that makes you feel these things.
Because you should always share how you feel.
Tell me what you think, she said.
Foolery
A nice cat, gone.
People find it curious that I grew up doing puppetry, but I swear to God it was a pretty normal childhood.
Gentle suggestions.
I’ve got a bike. You can ride it if you like.
Technological interlude.
My faith and the place from which it came.
Quantum love’s a true bitch.
Here I come!
How will we approach these thorny problems tomorrow?
Out of ideas, I began writing about Ftrain itself. Bad sign.
I made my own Turing Machine. Or perhaps I am a Turing Machine and I’m just looking in the mirror.
My personal experience of faith, faith, faith.
Poetry all sliced up, and then put back together.
A guide for getting through those bad days.
I ain’t famous, but won’t you think I am?
Changing the world, just by exhaling copious hot air.
Stop telling me how to think!
I have so much to do (includes pictures).
Here I am in London....
Damn the paperclip to hell.
A love letter to a little white box.
Thinking ‘puters!
I was born in Pennsylvania, and my biggest mistake was meeting Paul Ford.
A fucking nasty day.
This is me, testing the recording capability on a Linux system, doing an old man’s voice.
A Story of Wall Street. Illustrated with contemporary photographs by Paul Ford.
Touch the robot.
I’m counting minutes as she’s making a documentary.
All absolutely 100% guaranteed true.
How’m I doin?
What’s coming from the physics and paleontology set?
A poorly realized science fiction idea.
A half-antidote to spiritual failure.Muddle of desires.
A horrible event.