ABOUT THIS SERVER
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pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
                          A world of made
is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go

E. E. Cummings


What a wonderful poem.  Written in 1944, it still resonates.  Progress 
surely is a comfortable disease.  This place is a homage to that 
universe next door, the one we left for a more commercial web.

Don't get me wrong, I am rather fond of my internet banking, and the 
ability to get three bricks of shaving lather delivered in 48 hours.  
But some of the magic and serendipity is gone. Algorithms dictate your 
next viewed post or video, rather than chance and whimsy. There are more 
hawkers on a given webpage than at a tourist hole in SE Asia. The modern 
web has its pluses, but it sure as hell has a lot of miniuses.

So what is this place?  It is a homage to a simpler time, where whimsy 
and serendipy, obscurity, inefficency, weirdness, coolness, and deep 
nerdiness were the drivers. And text, a whole lot of text.  A time 
before the web and its eventual over commerialization, dip your toes in 
nostalgial or in an ancient internet you never knew existed.

I remember the joy of riding the day away on my bike during summer.  
Free range with only dinner or the streetlight to beckon you home.  I 
remember the same joy of the boing bing bong bong chchchcgrrrrrchchch of 
my 2400 baud modem providing the same portal to freedom as I the entered 
the gopherspace.

Pity us no more, that hell of good universe next door is here.


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Server admin: jetfuel
Contact: 314285xyz@gmail.com