A 3D 1:48,000 scale model of the Cybercabin Land, Built of 1/8" foam core board and rubber cement, April 2003

June 2004 Cabin Diary
     
     
  1. 10 June 2004 -- A conscious effort
     

10 June 2004 -- A conscious effort

I struggle with just how to picture the situation at this point.  The ideal of the Cabin remains, of course, but the whole thing gets a bit tedious at times, and just looks like another distraction.  Somewhere, in the immensity of distractions that are hawked to the modern man, there are the ones "worth taking"--but each distractor is convinced that this is the truth of his own, so the disgusted consumer of these wares resorts to despair.  So I try to distract myself, it would seem, by driving out the long, virtual road, in my virtual 4 x 4, to the expanse of land up here in the clearing, which is really rather rugged in a lot of spots.  There are level paths throughout the whole thing, which had been a boon in the days when I'd climb up to the ridge-top and hang around where virtual acid rain was still an effect.

I'd do better with ordinary old rest of course, which means shutting everything off and taking the trip to sweet Morpheus' lair.  Yes, you Freudians, so berated by the heel-clicking Prussians you had to endure, there is no escaping that world, in that vast "unconscious".  Anything that is conscious, by your definitions, is tainted by observer bias and thus invalid.  Well, guess who the observer in this case happens to be?  And you wonder why "analysis" failed so miserably, after the bizarre ends it reached in the 1970's.  Oh, yes, practical reality is the new goal.  What does not pay is not worth recognizing.  Concentrate on what makes the grass grow, for you will end up harvesting a good crop when the journey's done.

It is something of a "sultry" evening up here, with the kerosene lanterns and the darkness.  Were I not specifically protected from those wayward barbarians amongst the marauding many, by the "rules" of this virtual "paradise", I suspect I'd be afraid of having a door with no real lock on it.  The winds of winter are the foe up here; any good spinner of a deliberate dream-world would tell you that.  You can write out the mistakes of the others, but do not knock "nature".  You want to roll back the clock, if you can, and deny everything that the conscious man was ever conscious of and sought to act upon.  Oh, yes, the deliberate one is the interloper that ruins what is otherwise a very good piece of good old Ma Earth.  It is a sad legacy, to have my propriety challenged, simply because I've been given a choice as to where to go and what to hear.

There are the worthy distractions, and the fanciful, frivolous ones.  That was my initial thought.  It's all a matter of counting up the cost, it is true, but where is the price list, anyway?  I should be heading over to the sack soon, actually.  My very bones seem to have the sense of being imminently drowsy.  Oh, and yes, there will be the dreams, of varying quality, like someone forced to live out all the movies that are released, and with no choice.  It's much better that way, to be deprived of choice and able to blame the enforcers of what actually occurs.  But then is the soul adrift, and souls pretty much are expected to pick the right choices, or what good are they as souls?  I will be off to the bunk soon, to picture in completeness what isolation is all about.  By definition, and in this land, there are no "cares".

I'm waiting, good folks, for a decent critical review, and one that represents proper science, of the guidelines for weeding the crud from the crop, when it comes to how I should be influenced and what is worth believing.  They won't tell me to turn them off, of course, for the promoter is obviously a person of vested interest and blindly compromised morality.  All causes do not have credible face value, yet all we see is their faces.  It will be much simpler, once I'm asleep.  Sigh.

"Bo"

Ahead to July 2004