our greatest blessings come to us by way of madness Phaedr. 244a

2012/06/05

"it's not often that a readable book examining the nature of the social web can weave Jeremy Bentham, Franz Kafka, Herbert Marcuse, Michel Foucault, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Jack Kerouac, George Orwell, Hitchcock, Sherry Turkle, Reid Hoffman, Biz Stone, and Zuckerberg into a narrative. In an alternate universe they would all friend each other on Facebook."

Notice. Hardly any women. We're not real people, you see. Not amongst the troubadours. I suppose that's my position here. Flute girl, hoping to be courtesan.

Dan Farber's piece on Andrew Keen's new book, Digital Vertigo. How Today's Online Social Revolution Is Dividing, Diminishing, and Disorienting Us. 

 Have to read this. Especially after the realizations drawn from The Filter Bubble.

Upfront, must say I hate the fast, glib, hi ya of Facebook. It's a fine tool for businesses and social group planning, getting the word out, etc. But the personal? That's mine except for a very few people. And also impossible to really reveal in that howling space -- except to the predators profiling you.

I bare soul because that's what I do, but it's not personal in the material sense. I am and want to remain a perfect stranger. "When you are in your heart and I am inmy heart, there is no distance between us." That's the space that interests me, and that's the space of art.

In is first incarnation, Moon's Favors was used to get the news out, and it got a good number of hits before the robots and spammers hijacked it. But I don't need to do that anymore. Now it's just habit, a place to park things, a way to step back, hang things in space and try to see as someone outside of me. See, I love writing books, but I'm not much on whoring myself. This is my compromising position.

Lately, trussed and bound, I've been posting things from my own group Negative Capability which began over a dozen years ago. A small, very diverse group, drawn together through an interest in Jung, we became close friends. They were/are my teachers, and we share our personal lives and work through letters. It's an old tradition, ancient, but we also had the instantaneous of the internet. There are some 34,000 letters. I have the first one still. Utterly utter, a pose and a mask, but not a seed that could be planted in Facebook or Twitted.

Anyway -- as the internet breaks tradition, it also continues it. Being a mother, I have to remind: Just remember don't ever openly post your real birthday or location, even your real name, and get that do not follow ap.