I now have one of those moments when I look at my little Acer and I feel a kind of happy commotion in the bowels. I had never felt anything like an object. Sure it's not any object. Thanks to the connection, it becomes a ship, on a launcher, a speaker, a banner, an open door, a search engine, flying sponge. Tomorrow is Saturday. I have all night to liarme with links, surveying roads, grades, densities, strength level linkages, thresholds and strategies to hit it hard into English until the fall prepositions surrendered to my feet, or get their hands into Esperanto, and also I have to Neal Stephenson sending provocative messages, and they have some men that even if you have things to do, engage in so much that I called from the bookmark (or from wherever) and you can not resist. I have ten tabs open on the screen, music, wine, pasta with pesto and hours ahead, everything is possible. Be possible, that what I have to be extended to many more people, move this forward, we all see, everyone knows that nobody is satisfied. Finish the fight because we are dead or because we have achieved, and then enjoy. For the repressed envy-distorters fascists of free speech and truth: indifference (and, to deny evil desires), but neither these words deserve. The Red Room shortage opens things your do not let them stand, maybe that's why they so afraid.
My solidarity with journalists and a number of releases and closures, because today I played guard. Goodnight.
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