897

I & all who chose this template are assigned the magic number 897.

All hail 897!

I plan on posting 897 posts to this blog; no more, no less. Let my thoughts contribute to rotting the internet--yes, please! Obviously I care. I care too much to let my fragile brain implode if these thoughts didn't hemorrhage on virtual paper. I have my thoughts, and then I have those thoughts I force into me. I wish it were for fun, but it's all business.

Maybe individually we Barbriers (or barbarians) have some value. Maybe collectively we have some value, but mostly we claw like rats, each making sure we are not left out, only to watch those who have grabbed onto ___(?). There's a limited number to those, and they're floating off like balloons, so jump and grab and maybe you can hold on and rise above and then gloat/asphyxiate/freeze/laugh/laughsomemore. But that act is too three dimensional; I mean, that space. What we have to work with is much more linear, though the entire canvas is ours (and who cares about rules). Arrows have no meaning, just reminding us that we are free. Authority via a microphone has no impact but to ire. After all, freedom!

Freedom!

So few comrades out there. Are we spitting out webs like spiders except we can't hold on unless we spit a whole damn lot. Chhwweh…Ptooi! (courtesy of this) But not much like a spider, since I can't hear them. I can't hear the reverberations of a web that's caught something, nor can I hear the www.

And if I make a sound but you are not around to hear it, did I