“Oh, ye daemons of line noise and server bullshit, Know Your Place, motherfuckers! By rod and hand I chastise thee!
And all unwanted thoughtforms will be fed to The Dog.”- Jack Faust's Semi-Uber Curse Against the Internet Archons!
“Hey, you aint as dead as you seem; what-the-fuck.”- Saul Williams, WTF!
I was going to write about God, the universe, the sorcerer and shit...
… But I seem to be not allowed to do so. I say this with weird seriousness. See, I went to write a reply to R.O. three days ago. And then the internet went out; Comcast had a server explode or something. Whatever, right? Except that when their service resumed, our own did not. The server blocked us for unknown reasons.
Earlier this morning they fixed the problem. Or so we thought. I went to write about the same subject, this time with VI's last Cold Albion entry in mind. And then the internet went out again. At which point I got... pissy. I'd already been pissy when I had asked VVF to design the image above, and she provided the coolest stick-figure Viking a dude could ask for. (And a Bindrune. Which I suck at. Because this Futhark shit is weird, man. It makes me want to meditate on it...)
But then I charged it, uploaded the picture to facebook, and added that comment. And went outside to angrily have a couple cigarettes. When I came back inside, the Internet problem had fixed itself. No one knows what went wrong, or what fixed itself. But I like to think that occasionally back-handing the Digital Ether's Archons and Daemons helps a bit. What's funny is that works immediately because I have a ton of microcosmic charges to apply, and the other crap I'm waiting for just hangs in the air waiting for the path to open up. Mental note: re-strategize next time you do shit, Faustilocks.
Anyway. I will resume terrorizing The Internetz as a whole in the next few days.