The sky is overcast and as Rael looks back a dark cloud is descending like a balloon into Times Square. It rests on the ground and shapes itself into a hard edged flat surface, which solidifies and extends itself all the way East and West along 47th Street and reaching up to the dark sky. As the wall takes up its tension it becomes a screen showing what had existed in three dimensions, on the other side just a moment before. The image flickers and then cracks like painted clay and the wall silently moves forward, absorbing everything in its path. The unsuspecting New Yorkers are apparently blind to what is going on.
There's something solid forming in the air,
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No-one seems to care,
They carry on as if nothing was there.
Rael starts to run away towards Columbus Circle. Each time he dares to take a look, the wall has moved another block. At the moment when he thinks he's maintaining his distance from the wall, the wind blows hard and cold slowing down his speed. The wind increases, dries the wet street and picks up the dust off the surface, throwing it into Rael's face. More and more dirt is blown up and it begins to settle on Rael's skin and clothes, making a solid layered coat that brings him gradually to a terrified stillness. A sitting duck.
The wind is blowing harder now,
Blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.
Echoes of The Broadway Everglades
With their mythical madonnas still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce delcares a truce and plays his other hand
Marshall McLuhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand.
Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ships sailing.
Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline failing.
Ku Klux Klan serve hot soul foood and the band plays "in The Mood"
The cheerleader waves her cyanide wand,
There's a smell of peach blossom and bitter almond.
Caryl Chessman sniff the air, and leads the parade
He knows, in a scent, you can bottle what you made!
There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes
Smiling at the Majorette, smoking Winston cigarettes
And as the song and dance begins, the children play at home
with needles...Needles and pins
Kontrastas, bet gal ne toks baisus kaip gali pasirodyti. Aš irgi po savo stogu randu kai kurioms LT pop žvaigždėms vietos. Pvz, turbūt visi čia žino, kad aš esu visai nemenkas Aistės Pilvelytės mėgėjas.
Mano smegenys neregistruoja kai pamatau tokį vaizdą kaip "DjVaids mėgsta Pink Floyd dainą Time", o po apačia "DjVaids mėgsta YVA dainą Vasaros mergaitės" Bet imu pratintis jau.
Parašiau. Prašau, pakvieskit kas nors Pazistu_Mykola pasigrožėt tuo dienoraščiu... bus kaip laiko mašina 10 metų atgal, kai aš bombinau music'ą exceliniais grafikais ir Pazistu_Mykola tik ateidavo pasijuokt iš mano polinkio viskas "užstatistikinti"
Apskritai, senesniais laikais beveik visi kūrėjai pradėdavo su intencija tiesiog dalintis, be jokių monetizacijų. Tik vėliau už tai gavo atlygį. Dabar, deja, viskas korporatyvizuota (jei yra toks žodis), ir sunku pradėti be gero plano nuo pradžių.
Na, skaitoma medija visai kitą auditoriją turi, bet ir palyginti gerokai mažesnė. Tokia jau tinklaraštininkų dalia. Na bet galiausiai, svarbiausia, kad veikla patiktų ir duotų kažko gero bent keliems žmonėms. Ko daugiau ir reikia.
Nebent tai darai kaip saviraiškos būdą neturėdamas noro gauti jokios grąžos. Bet man blog'o formatas mielesnis, aš kai noriu rašau tekstus savo tinkluose ir viskas. Skaitoma medija man visuomet bus pirmiau žiūrimos medijos.