Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal by Zach Weinersmith for January 28, 2015
January 27, 2015
January 29, 2015
Transcript:
The first victim of technological acceleration was standup comedy When I was a kid, you ask a girl out and then actually talk to her. Nowadays, time is stored in a one-dimensional pseudocloud within which the notion of casualty is meaningless. Am I right? The fellas know what I'm talking about.
I guess. Every time I read an Emily Dickinson poem I feel a twinge of love for her. It’s my fancy that whenever someone reads the words or plays the music of someone who has died, somewhere out of Oblivion their shade is temporarily called forth to bask in Life..Now that art is stored more and more in The Cloud (Teilhard de Chardin’s “Noosphere”?) and recalled so easily, do the creative dead constantly hum in some analogy to Power Save?