| viena no tēmām rītdienas eksāmenam |
[Jun. 4th, 2007|02:35 pm] |
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| un vēl viena... piedošan' par bilžu lielumu, mazākās nevar īsti redzēt |
[Jun. 4th, 2007|02:42 pm] |
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[Jun. 4th, 2007|03:06 pm] |
"I read somewhere that everybody on this planet is separated by only six other people. Six degrees of separation between us and everyone else on this planet. The President of the United States, a gondolier in Venice, just fill in the names. I find that extremely comforting, that we're so close, but I also find it like Chinese water torture that we're so close because you have to find the right six people to make the connection. It's not just big names -- it's anyone. A native in a rain forest, a Tierra del Fuegan, an Eskimo. I am bound -- you are bound -- to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people. It's a profound thought -- how Paul found us, how to find the man whose son he claims to be, or perhaps is, although I doubt it. How everyone is a new door, opening into other worlds."
- character Ouisa Kittredge
(no Six Degrees of Separation) |
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[Jun. 4th, 2007|04:12 pm] |
The great paradox of "social networking" is that it uses narcissism as the glue for "community." Being online means being alone, and being in an online community means being alone together. The community is purely symbolic, a pixellated simulation conjured up by software to feed the modern self's bottomless hunger. Hunger for what? For verification of its existence? No, not even that. For verification that it has a role to play. As I walk down the street with thin white cords hanging from my ears, as I look at the display of khakis in the window of the Gap, as I sit in a Starbucks sipping a chai served up by a barista, I can't quite bring myself to believe that I'm real. But if I send out to a theoretical audience of my peers 140 characters of text saying that I'm walking down the street, looking in a shop window, drinking tea, suddenly I become real. I have a voice. I exist, if only as a symbol speaking of symbols to other symbols.
http://www.roughtype.com/archives/2007/03/the_telegraph_o.php
šis laikam ir tas svarīgākais
As the physical world takes on more of the characteristics of a simulation, we seek reality in the simulated world. At least there we can be confident that the simulation is real. At least there we can be freed from the anxiety of not knowing where the edge between real and unreal lies. At least there we find something to hold onto, even if it's nothing. |
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[Jun. 4th, 2007|04:26 pm] |
Šodienas eksāmena A daļa => no 20 iespējamiem iegūti 12
Turklāt kļūdas tieši tur, kur biju pārliecināta par savu taisnību. Pašpārliecinātība, bļe |
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| tā iet ka nervi netur sesijas laikā |
[Jun. 4th, 2007|07:16 pm] |
Redzēju sen neredzētu kaimiņieni vēl no agrās bērnības laikiem. Viņa gribēja mani kaut kur vest, bet es sēdēju tādā kā nožogotā uzkalniņā (bija melns un silts) un mācījos rītdienas eksāmenam. Un tad kaut kur bija rakstīts, ka scale-free networks šīs mūzikas izpildījumā darbojas tikai tad, ja to 20 cilvēku auditorija spēlē kopā ar Rostropoviču. Un atnāca smalkā dāma mani aicināt uz šo koncertu, bet es vispirms gribēju paskatīties uz to bērnības dienu draudzeni-kaimiņieni. Posos iet laukā, melnie svārki pinas pa kājām, izlēmu uzmest uz pleciem vecmāmiņas jaku, bet tai sapogātas pogas. Samulsu no pogājuma, ko pamanīja istabā ienācis tēvs un iesmējies par manu vēlmi atrast kaut ko siltāku (ārā sniegs un vēlais vakars un bērnības dienu kaimiņiene-draudzene ar suni), ieteica lieki neņemties: "Tu taču vienalga nomirsi no sirdstriekas." Samulsu jau otrreiz- kā gan viņš to varētu zināt. Tūdaļ gan sāku pamuļķīgi smaidīt- nu, ja jau nomiršu no sirdstriekas, tad jau uztraukties nav par ko. Atpogāju vecmātes džemperjaku (tāda viņai patiešām ir- pelēka ar rozā, violetiem un dzelteniem taisnstūriem un foršām lielajām kabatām), uzvilku, aizpogāju un devos laukā. |
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