Ranting

If the internet is a series of tubes, then in my heat its a steampunk amalgamation of radiators and furnaces, hissing and vibrating and burning. The content is that raw material, and the people who create it are the multitude of burners and stoves, cigarette lighters and nuclear reactors dumping feeling into the system. It all travels in pipes instead of wires, carrying it about to every radiator, through the fins and turns whether steam or hot oil, tin or cast iron, and they all just cast heat. The heat is the feeling that we all want. Its a sustaining distraction that every facespace and tumblog spreads, and every uplike and favscription is like another little joint in the line. They're all fed and spread with content. Its comfort, getting information at a level we can understand, and we each have our own thermostat. Sure there's pipes that run with angry lava and some that are as cold as dead veins, but nobody taps them. We click and dial into our comfort zone, and that's expected. So a big recirculating mass of furnaces and radiators., that's my internet. There's plenty of condensers too, just sucking up the used heat and feeding it back into the loop until its old and useless. So that's what I thought about while painting walls for 3 hours.

I suppose there's obviously some disproportionately huge ocean of porn that's supposed to fit in there somewhere.