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PurposeOfHomepages

The problem with the web is, after a while everybody knows you're a dog.

Compare this to "On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog." -- check the New Yorker Collection 1993, http://www.cartoonbank.com/ and looking for Peter Steiner.

Back to homepages, though. I want to write. Talk. Nobody here to talk. Or worse: The ones that are here keep talking back. So I'm talking to you. Because you're not talking back. Are you? You might. You might send me some mail. FeedBack. But then again, you might not.

A place to rant. Store some knowhow for other people, sure. But rant. I guess. This is pretty new, actually. Back then when I was using the BookMetaphor, StreamOfThought was forbidden. It didn't provide content. Now I use the WikiMetaphor to not structure the website. And I ramble and rant. I'm in the RR department. I guess. I think. I believe. Anyway, NoAudience.

Ever thought about TrustInHomePages?

Doubt and empty formulations, Füllwörter, actually, show that I'm part of this culture. Not necessarily alive. We don't prove alivedness on our homepages.

Maybe the StreamOfThought is the ThreadMode of the solitary would-be individual, lost behind a screen, typing furiously, loosing himself in the web, in the maze of tiny little pages, all alike? His homepages? All alike? How to refactor this crap? Maybe the resulting mental DocumentMode can be called an enlightenment. You know more than before. Meditation, insight, understanding, rational thought. StrainOfThought.

Anyway, somewhere in here there must be a statement lurking. Something hidden under the surface of all these tiny little pages. An elusive self. A would-be elusive. A would-be artist. We call them "Web-Häsli" here in Switzerland. "Web-Bunnies": The host of cute female web designers giggling and gossiping in the big web design companies. We, stark male IT consultants, system analysts, system engineers, software engineers, sales managers -- serious, professional, flexible. A homepage as "Sprungbrett" -- a stepping stone on the way out, an escape pod, a catapult to freedom, hurling us gray coat wearing exhibitionists out into the wild wild web.

"Ein Schrei Nach Liebe", I guess. There is no BeautyAndPain in that, is there? To tell other people about ourselves, expecting never to hear about it again. Like a gossip, like slander. You entrust a friend with some news. The friend tells other friends. Of course. There's no avoiding it. But nobody is ever supposed to mention it back to you. Nobody. And a HomePage is similar in that. Spill your heart. But let nobody ever mention it back to you. Or me.


SiteMap / AllPages / Out / kensanata@gmail.com / Last change: 2001-09-27