a small patch of a very large surface

How can you write on a small patch of a very large surface in the sure and certain knowledge that no one will read it? The surface is the internet and the small patch is this
blog.

This is a ruined but partially rebuilt fireplace.

Why would I read Facebook?

Why would I read Facebook? 

I just found myself stretching for the bookmark for fb, as though an incompleteness was threatened.

I read / looked last night, - rooked / lead - and it was nothing, just tiny pre-toxic precursors of not much. Slowly switching off the connecting channels, single vectors. One way street.

A couple of things : 

I lived for 3 years 9 months next door to an anechoic chamber. It was represented in this dimension by a young couple who operated in carmelite silence. Avoidant and avoiding. Barely able to speak, no eye contact, soundless. He stopped his bass playing, she stopped working and became invisible. The purdah of the suburbs.
He played on his phone in the sun after work, briefly. She came outside one Saturday morning wrapped in a curtain. 

At xmas, I saw her being cajoled by her parents; she sulked and folded her arms.

Then they got married, just the parents. He played the ukelele quietly. They announced via an estate agent's board that they were leaving.

They filled their bin to the point of immobility with crockery, utensils. They moved by the smallest truck. The house was a riot of magnolia. He said "she needs to be near her mother". An unsurprising lack of goodbye.

The other thing :

A young woman walked towards her car pushing a mountain bike. She took off the wheels and stowed it on top of another bike inside a Fiat 500. She grinned and shook my hand.

There's a link between the Trump process and the Referendum process. Neither is about their ostensible purpose - a decision about who will run for president or the status of the EU in the UK. 

The way the Tories staged a Jacobean revenge tragedy without blood, or a series of poorly propped doors falling in sequence splattering the residue of the previous fall. It was a clear out of the politicians and hangers-on and wannabes, an entire Ancien Regime swept out to sea. And its return on the next tide.

There were 12 candidates - a sorry crew of chancers, hacks and "mayor of a small Sun Belt city". And this revved up Homer Simpson caricature - that is a caricature drawn by Homer - with no story, no structure, no staying power, nothing much to say but one-liners about what he didn't like. All delivered like a dodgy comedian, a warm up man, all pointing and pouting and posturing.

He has the same function : to winkle out the Tea Party / Evangelical / party hacks. None of whom even put up a simple response or even an adult reaction to the torrent of nonsense. Even Ted "Machine Gun Bacon" Cruz, zip, nada, nowt. 

To expose them as the hollowed out effigies of competing political factions was beyond the capacity of any opponent, only their own side could attack. The central paradox is there. 

Having shown them to be the worthless hacks they are, he is last man standing and he's worse.

The collapse of the Republican Party and then a new Republican Party run by the same arrangement of power blocks in American capitalism. 

The trick will be to do this while losing the election after months of Trumpery and enraged middle aged clones. 

Or the whole project collapses if he wins - an clinically stupid and borderline fascist chancer elected to the most powerful political position on Earth. That is the end game.

A collapsing superpower run by a clown, with more nuclear weapons than anyone else and the world about to implode. Ayn Rand probably had this idea, Nietszche, Carl Schmidt, any number of lesser luminaries of the psychotic right. A fantasy which can be operationalised with a few million dollars and a willing clown.

Grunting towards November wading through American euphemism and the search for zingers. If they elect Trump, we deserve him. The principle of "Oh dear" and dying capitalism locked together going over the Reichenbach Falls.

And then we wake up. Or not.

An excess

I've finished with Facebook, it has turned into unremitting. Not anything, just unremitting addition of further unremitting and then repeat with variations as unremitting as the previous but only more so.
I watched 3 minutes of edited voxpop of the Cleveland orgy of self importance. And then a 200 year old apple tree. And a friend's child with a giant moth. And a note from my son to say he will have a good time on holiday.

This is not communication, it's not real but is factual. It crashes into a wall, repeatedly.

This seems sane.