The Woes of Google/ Verizon and Net Neutrality.

The io9 article, "How the Google/Verizon proposal could kill the internet in 5 years," sums up net neutrality pretty well:

"But guess what's going to remain on the public net, the place where you go when you don't have money? Certainly there will be educational resources like Wikipedia. But mostly it's going to be advertisement-saturated free content from major entertainment comapnies. And of course there will be many opportunities to give your personal information to Facebook, or gamble away your non-existent savings on Zynga games. (Sorry - did I say gamble? I meant "pay for premium poker game content.") Put in brick-and-mortar terms: There won't be any produce markets on the public internet, but there will be plenty of liquor stores."

Google/ Verizon are basically proposing to gentrify the internet.

Read the whole article, here.

Untitled 6.

There's a section of sky in the east/ that I hold in my mind that I hold dear/ by the way there's a place where I hide all the things/ all the clouds that grow pregnant with fear

There's a spot on the sea that reminds me of peace/ that I try and hold in my mind/ but it rocks me to sleep where the sun turns to glitter/ with a dream and a tear in my eye

I feel the pull of the moon/ and it's phases and you and your fancies/ as I sit on a fence/ there's a place in my heart where ever you are/ and as long as you're there I can never get lost

There's a spot on my head where the sun beats me down/ like a kid with a looking glass/ like some karmic revenge from all the things that I've/ burned in the past

There's a face in the night that I'm wanting to see/ but tonight she's hiding half of her face from me/ there's a voice in the room that reminds me of you/ as long as you're there/ as long as I have you/ I can never get lost

Goh Nakamura's Section of Sky

You are always in my mind and my heart.

Untitled 5.

I am lost between the fronts, but I am not striding just for me.

Sunday.

The world had risen, then there was me.

The Phoenix.

I posted a cut-up version a while back, but I wanted to revisit this quote in its entirety; from my favorite book:

There was a silly damn bird called a Phoenix back before Christ: every few hundred years he built a pyre and burned himself up. He must have been first cousin to Man. But every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of the ashes, he got himself born all over again. And it looks like we're doing the same thing, over and over, but we've got one damn thing the Phoenix never had. We know the damn silly thing we just did. We know all the damn silly things we've done for a thousand years, and as long as we know that and always have it around where we can see it, some day we'll stop making the goddam funeral pyres and jumping into the middle of them. We pick up a few more people that remember, every generation.


Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451

11th Dimension.

Asian Americans directed and produced Julian Casablancas' music video for 11th Dimension. I'm a little proud.

At the end of yesterday.

I am the glue, but I am not the gun.

Untitled 3.

What I did to deserve this/ I don't know/ To wake up to something so beautiful/ There's not much I can say that you don't know/ And words will try to show my heart/ But that's impossible

It's scary too/ 'Cause I know nothing's for certain/ And fate please don't pull this curtain/ I guess I've been April's fool for so long

Voice inside says "I don't deserve you"/ But I would never want to be/ One to unnerve you

I guess I'm trying to keep that stuff inside/ When I see your arms open wide/ I guess I'm saying dear never mind/ And love you never fail me anytime

I guess I had a fear of hope/ And I don't know a thing of miracles/ Undefined and vague and cold/ 'Til you came long and took me/ Places I couldn't reach on my own

My heart and mind like/ Treble, bass in all keys/ Scattered notes/ You make symphonies/ I guess I'm saying you make sense of me/ I guess I'm saying "girl, where have you been?"


Goh Nakamura's Y.T.

Valentine.

It's a strange thing to compare the feel of this day from years back to now.

Down.

I felt the aches that come with it; my chest heavy, but came no tears. I yearned for that release, but I could not be met. Only further festering was to be remained. I cannot seem to find light when I do not know how I became engulfed by the dark.

Cut.

Feeling it necessary to remove myself from the family smog, I stepped into the blood-chilling outside air. I curiously walked over to a normal looking police officer, who was oddly waiting on the sidewalk near the house. Waiting for who or what, I did not know. We had only begun to converse when a brown truck with a tan-striped side went revving by. Skidding the corner down the street, we heard a thunderous crash and a girl screaming in the distance. Without a moment of hesitation, I went sprinting to help whoever could have possibly been hurt. Jumping the hedges, I braked myself in mid-air as I saw the truck immediately in front of me. I collapsed to the hard concrete as if the ground beneath me had been ripped away. The driver leaped out of his truck, lunging toward me. The five-inch blade slid deep into my side. After the painful extraction, I reached to grab the knife in his hand, only for him to stab into the flesh between my thumb and forefinger. Trying to pull back and shield myself, he sliced about my left forearm and hand. The shield bled. I finally took hold of the knife, stabbing into the right side of his abdomen. Cutting severely into his chest, I did not look to see if he got up afterward. I slowly took step after step back to the house. The now seemingly odd police officer was nowhere in sight. I pushed the front door open with whatever strength I had left. Wandering around the family dinner party, I dripped crimson as I called out for my mother.

Waking at 6:27pm.

Boy's wake.

I look to forward days; your knees bent before concrete and soil. The place of your palms cradle his roots of aged, draping between fingers of youth. With earth sifting through, and sprouts waking high; he swims back to you.

Conflict.

And so it goes with machines. Astronomical sums are nice, but blood is best. Flesh is easier. Mind and will are excellent. The captain is all these. The computer doesn't know I live. The captain does. He looks, he sees, he interprets, he decides. He tells me where to go. And as he is my captain, as I go.

Straight to hell.

Then hell it is.


Ray Bradbury's Leviathan '99.

Feel of the leave.

For even the thundering rocket, which rips the soul on Earth, walks silently some few miles high, treads the stars without footfall, as if in awe of the great cathedral of space.


Ray Bradbury's Leviathan '99.