Follow The Zig

What elevates The Singing Detective is the way in which these threads gradually intersect: individuals from Marlow's childhood memories appear in his pulp detective fantasy; characters from the detective fantasy emerge in the 'real' hospital ward.-- John Cook

Without being able to fathom how digitizing a video feed works, I realize shooting video through a cell phone is incredibly easy, so just as ATT's proprietary secrets from the eighties spawned the troubled tech giants we have today, once the Defense Department relinquished Internet technology for civilian use, images vanished from three dimensional space, even vanishing on the two dimensional surfaces on which they were printed, though I imagine digital films can be converted to celluloid reels suitable to run on older projection technology, and I may look into it for a future feature, because the fact that things have gotten too easy may be contributing to the violence inflicting itself on the collective crowd. YouTube and other systems like it offer the lowliest voices a place at the table. By the same token, we are all lost in the sheer volume. During the #deleteFacebook trend, I responded to a nice twitter user by tweeting the now 18 accounts linked to my FB stream do not read my posts tagged to a specific relative. I take it in good humor, but lone wolves seem to increasingly find it desirable to take it out in ways that have never been done before. However we classify it, the end result is the same, with varying ripple effects. Sandy Hook shook me terribly, but it wasn't Columbine. Orlando left me ambivalent, and had me reported to the authorities in a ridiculous case of grandstanding that unraveled into the physical anguish I currently endure daily. Paddock's goldfish bowl tactics sickened me, and with the Florida high school shooter, I rather gave the viewers who find their way here the finger-- granted this was a dubious rhetorical strategism, but going postal in the corporate headquarters of a video uploading service  constantly at war with itself over what is and isn't accessible seems a quintessentially American act, whether over a rationalization particular to the aggrieved, or a domestic violence end game, as authorities now speculate that it was.

If you are on the left, and want to rewrite the Second Amendment, then you wind up with innocent citizens like Andrew Finch being killed by military police, or, even in my case, if you want Google's Alphabet services to suspend this account because layers of injustice fuel an impotent anger, would I be determined enough to teach myself code and defend a domain like a hacker? Is it worth it because I allow myself to engage in shock jock syndrome? Do I deserve to be tortured with the best of intentions in a state run nursing home because my definitions are so bold, so formerly defiant? If I published franchised pamphlets instead of posts in the immediate aftermath, would that be different, or just another variation of Richard Spencer's fraudulent mystique, the "crazy racist" in the Daily Beast catalog? He can engage social media civilly when he wishes, but twitter's de-verification of his account illustrates the symptomatic stomach virus of liberalism. Verification is merely supposed to indicate to the follower that personality x is personality x. It isn't going to change Richard's thought crimes gymnastics. He doesn't impress me, but neither does Twitter's sanction. Either ban the man or let him retain the cult following. I can do a scatological and daring musical from a hospital bed gasping for breath on incidental orgasms too, shedding snake skins. That is what we're processing in the not but almost post-conglomerate Facebook era. My public television affiliate took its dose of mock courage to air Dennis Potter's daring foray into how creative non-linear thinkers process coping mechanisms. The regional backlash was so fierce that WHYY never aired a seminal work of such melodramatic English playfulness again, in a decade where both Potter and the dowager were relevant concerns.