HEART BEARPOD SEEN IN VANCOUVER SKIES
If I disappeared tomorrow I’d leave behind the expansive, exhausting matrix of my internet wandering to the great search engine in the sky. On secret sites and password protected forums my future followers will attempt to prove or disprove my multiple identities and trade info on where to find authentic, TRUE bits and pieces as they revel in the eternally fleeting nature of my insight—the genius gift of Secret Rockstar Knowledge bestowed upon me by @hena, Goddess of cool hunting, who smiled on me from up in the clouds as I smoked the wild green grass and body surfed between the lyrics and the beat. She gave me the ability to drop critical pearls into the viral swineflu of the internets. Character limits in comment boxes and on Twitter were turned into creative catalysts—it was mind blowing to realize that the most complicated, impossible to explain things came across as succinct and well-put in140 characters or less. It was like taking a Polaroid of an architectural masterpiece. Auras of ghost light and other magical ephermera that get filtered out as mistakes by supposedly state of the art equipment are captured in a spur of the moment SNAP.
In the end, the art of living and the art of dying are all about the simple joy of pressing a button and pressing it NOW.
