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When the largest pine cone falls.
May. 10th, 2005 02:52 pmRelaxation is a state of mind, or at least a resemblance of the state that you're in to your mind. Other things without minds probably don't get to relax which, considering they live in a world that uses and abuses them constantly must be pretty damn hectic and give them constant thing-aches.
Take your average remote control, all it asks is the odd battery or two and a bit of peace and quiet, but oh no, picked and hauled and poked and waved and swore at. At least it gets to command the mighty TV set, but only from orders from that which pokes it.
Does this mean that a remote is our translator to the world of the electronic? That through it's buttons we can command and chat with electrons as they dutifully light our world and scurry through endless miles of metal from the power grind of electricity.
Maybe they enjoy it, maybe they bunch together like surfers standing by...
"Whoa, dude, that last power spike was like, dude, awesome, I totally cut that transformer through, I was pulling 6 EV on my own man, I was flying."
"These are good times dude, now we just gotta wait for the switch."
-click-
"Surfs up!"
But then again, if we take our tools as our interface to the world of the inanimate this makes things like lawnmowers our ambassadors to grass and ground, so what does this tell them? We are cruel, heartless masters who sycthe millions of them to death without a thought, squash them underfoot and throw them away to be burnt; burnt in a fire for nothing more than compost to make their fellow plants grow once more with their own rotting bodies.
Just you wait until the bluegrass revolution, we'll all be up against the wall, I'm telling you.
Take your average remote control, all it asks is the odd battery or two and a bit of peace and quiet, but oh no, picked and hauled and poked and waved and swore at. At least it gets to command the mighty TV set, but only from orders from that which pokes it.
Does this mean that a remote is our translator to the world of the electronic? That through it's buttons we can command and chat with electrons as they dutifully light our world and scurry through endless miles of metal from the power grind of electricity.
Maybe they enjoy it, maybe they bunch together like surfers standing by...
"Whoa, dude, that last power spike was like, dude, awesome, I totally cut that transformer through, I was pulling 6 EV on my own man, I was flying."
"These are good times dude, now we just gotta wait for the switch."
-click-
"Surfs up!"
But then again, if we take our tools as our interface to the world of the inanimate this makes things like lawnmowers our ambassadors to grass and ground, so what does this tell them? We are cruel, heartless masters who sycthe millions of them to death without a thought, squash them underfoot and throw them away to be burnt; burnt in a fire for nothing more than compost to make their fellow plants grow once more with their own rotting bodies.
Just you wait until the bluegrass revolution, we'll all be up against the wall, I'm telling you.
