Automatic Stop

So, it must be Saturday (or the end thereof). Saturday is the new Monday. Either way, I'm here and you're there - somewhere (we're all still a bit fuzzy about the details of this). I'm jamming to The Strokes and getting the feeling that those guys have the worst luck with the girls. I hope that, whilst you enjoy the sort of detached out-of-body (they call it virtual, Mike) stealth that the web allows, you're listening to something just as inspiring.

"The point?" you ask.

I will tell you. Marcus and Ian seem to be having a whole bunch of fun here, sitting on the steps while being blasted in the side of the head by a speedlight. And yet, there's an element of chaos here. It's like they are also aware of this existential crisis of skimming virtual insights from the internet. And, while they don't seem to care about the darkness that is surrounding them, the ambiguity is still there. It's like sitting in a movie theatre where the images are flashed on the screen at a rate of twenty-four frames per second. Information travels to you as light passes through each frame (24 times a second), but in between is a moment of darkness. When you think about it, that's a lot of time in the dark...

The photo is making more sense isnt' it?

Now you're wishing you had something sweet to listen to. Kind of like The Strokes.

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