The internet is an infectious, evil device. It subjects us to an abundance of information we eventually believe that we need, because we have such infuriatingly easy access to it. The internet is a cornucopia of beautiful shit that says, "touch me." So we touch it and it feels good, and then we're left with poison ivy. Or worse yet, herpes of the melon.
If it's out there for us to see, hear, know, beat off to - what kind of lazy fucks are we if we don't capitalize on the freedom of such information and use it to satisfy some sort of hunger within ourselves?
You know what I really like? What really gets me going? That thrilling sensation of being teased by the idea of satisfaction... the possibility of opportunity dangling above my nose. I reach for it and it pulls away. Not yet... Not yet!
Just wait. Wait for it.
There will come a point where what I want could quite potentially happen. And I understand that in order for it to happen a lot of people's lives will have to change along the way. But then again, it's nothing that hasn't happened before.
I remember the days of having to buy postcards of my favourite band at the corner store in order to look at pictures of them. What!? What was that? We will never see those days again. My blackberry, after all, is synced to 3 different email addresses, all of which receive updates for various forms of fandom in which I so sheepishly engage.
Goodnight.
xoLola.
Favourite tune of the moment: Hole's "Skinny Little Bitch"
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