Children of Cyberspace
Two weeks without a computer. The Shards are backlogging on the yellow pads. They’re growing restless, like a battalion of Marines in the hole of a troop ship waiting to land on a hostile beach. They’re growing insubordinate, wondering why they haven’t been shot out into cyberspace.
I try to distract them with stories about the old days, the days of the Mimeo Revolution, tell them how back then Shards were stuck in envelopes and mailed to a single recipient and how the recipient would tear open the envelope and read the Shard sitting at the kitchen table or out on the porch or in a bar maybe, over a bottle of beer.
Mistake. They freaked. “You lie!” they said. “No Shard could last for days alone in an envelope!”
They’re right. Shards didn’t even exist back then. Shards are the children of Cyberspace.
I have to get back on line soon before things get out of control.
John Bennett working his 1917 A.B. Dick back in the late 70s …
John Bennett working his 1917 A.B. Dick back in the late 70s …
Took a four-day break. Missed the Shards more than I missed the computer.