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Old thoughts born on memory.

Tue Jan 23 1996

I've been wanting to write about this for several days now, and through one thing and another, I haven't managed to. I hope I can remember what it is I want to write.

No, I can't. I'll wander about a bit first then.

Life has this shape to it that most people think is the way things just are. But that shape is the way they see things, and almost always not the way things are. I don't enjoy insulting either thing by calling htis the inner and outer distinction or subjective and objective. Let's just use Craig's story (yeah he gets copyright on this one, if that is so important - no I couldn't tell if that was a joke). each of us has a glass bubble around us. We can move around in that bubble in any way we want - believing almost anything about ourselves. Looking out of hte bubble at therest of the world though is difficult, and many of us choose to paint parts of it different colours to filter the information somewhat. Rose-coloured bubbles, blackened corners, random noise mottling, clear (almost).

As each of us normally assumes that our own bubble has the best POV, we go around telling others what the world really is like. Giggle. I don'tthink my bubble is clear. At the same time I know I have a segment of it left unpainted that I point around at things and people to try to get the real story. Works for me.

No, I still don't know / remember what was gestating in me that I wanted to write through. miau

Cats. Olga is moving out and a cat diaspora follows in her wake. Rivhard is taking Sigmund, and I am taking Fleiss. Wolfie left last weekend for unknown ends with a couple of grad students. Ego, the forth cat int he Freudian diaspora, is staying with Olga in her new place. This is the last of the Rita inspired tornado damage around here I think. I don't know if I agree with simply giving away 3 cats. On the other hand, Moppins and Fleiss and I really will be so happy together, that I can't complain -- as long as every other furry friend gets a nice home too. We'll find out if Richard can retain responsibility for a beautiful Sigmund or not.

In other soap opera fronts: A chick named Amy who is currently slumming with Peter and the unnamed wrote me yesterday, much I a certain unnamed style. "Why?" is all I could say. "Why me? Why don't these critters that Peter collects stay away?"

"Ahhh," answers the wiser and balanced part of me. "You create a mysterious gap in their understandings of people (Peter) they care about, and so they seek you out more than they would if they really knew who you were." Sigh.

And also through that grapevine, I find that the unnamed and her betrothed are unhappy together. they need to go off and have babies together, and something prevents them. So they knaw at each other instead of the babies. Genetic algorithms intact.

And still more trashy life factoids: It's 9am and I better start making business calls! That's what.


Losers? Where?.

Wed Jan 24 1996

Woooo and sigh. Business decisions that don't fit rightwith my personal beliefs. I'd rather not make such, and yet if I don't, I'll end up once again in a relationship with an entity that isn't quite professional about business. Curious. I'd like to not remake the mistakes of the past year in this case. Very curious.

Richard's roommate moved out,a nd it seems has left him with all her cats. Fleiss will be moving in withme, andSigmund with Richard, but Olga also left her 4th cat, Ego there too. Without a note. I don't get it. I hoe Richard will learn to feed these cats before they all starve. :) He has never inhis life been responisible for another's welfare. At all. Oh dear.

Worry worry worry. Jamaica... In three weeks.


mum.

Thu Jan 25 1996

Some days are just like that. I woke up at 6am with the most incredible hangover, my karma lagging in the dust. After a brief bath, 6 hours of work, a meeting during which I had to thingk relational database, and then a call from The People's Network representing one of my business associates in a rather questionable fashion - what I'd call pure bully tactics (and from someone who I have no reason to deal with), after all that... an email from the unnamed. A very polite and quite considerate email, and one which was in return thanked for quite a lot. An email ... in which I was informed that once again... hold onto your virtual hats... in which I was duly informed that my mum had once again sought me out. I'm not sure how many years its been since last she tried this stunt. My response beyond the thanks to the unnamed's considerate message / warning was a suggestion that if mum called again to ask her who died this time. ooops this is a public place. My facetiousness might be visible. :)

Well now. I am up on all the current gossip, and although I did not exactly spell out that I keep my diary hidden here, I did mention my slow coming into the public eye. My coming in (out of the cold) party. Turns out one of my cousins caught the discovery channel segment and so the whole collective knew a bit about me. Little do they know that a whole lot of people know a whole lot more about them. :) Ooops.

But of course, I left out the most fun. When I did call the woman who claimed to be my mother, as the unnamed put it, her very first act was to sound very serious and sad. I knew to keep my mouth in joint just right. .. don't say it. And I succeeded. I let her tell me who died without any snide remarks. :) Her mother did apparently, my British grandmum. Ohh but the punchline to this story. Mummy has learned her lesson! Apparently my grandmum, who really was a lady with dignity, died last August. Last August. 6 months ago. Yikes. Seems my snideness paid off over the years after all. And my journey to England was a little late to truly absorb the ancestral dust properly ... or perhaps just in the knick of time. I remember a call from my sister years ago - 2? She told me that my grnadmum was to be in the country here soon and that this would be her last time. I've been hearing that story since I was five and I had to lend my room out to her for her visit. :) I'm not saddened by any of this. I pretensed such though sot hat my mum wouldn't be too uncomfortable. She played her cards right... dangling a string in front of my and then pulling it back suddenly. You can't push a cat, but you can give it a bath if you use a string too!

Hangover, adrenalin, cult, mum. Weird. And how was your day? :)


Just fine, Not

Fri Jan 26 1996

today. Where once were mice. Now are business men. Shiny Mazes. Big Cheeses.


further thoughts on the state of the world in my head.

Sat Jan 27 1996

Now our newest client produces office supplies and everywhere I go now I notice postit notes and binders. :) In my head I see the website I will build for them already and as more real than the world I live in. I hide there perhaps? Imake fun of others who might choose the easier life of the institution and then I crawl into little websites with rule bound surfaces. No freehand.

I nervously await the party this evening. It is too cold realy to want to go outside and yet I will to feel that I can. And of course I can. Even when overworked I am alright with such occasions. Alright. Not happy, but hey that'll happen too. The world in my head breathes a sigh of relief: she has chosen to be brave today. Good for her.

Where are the flowers of summer?

The net is slippery tonight, covered in beer parties and obligations, the users are missing and I fly fast. In my cubbyhole, another website. Self-whipping: the reason. I should ________. Ahhh yes that voice. And "Carolyn, this is your motha speaking." And the voice made of friends knowing me intimately. Nerviousity. Fast and twitchy. And the world in my head is my own oyster, pearls of thought, coral reefs of belief, and the most rarest of rare treasures, life. Slippery indeed.

Does memory play an important role only because I wrote an intense story about it and I feel that story with me, in me still. I tried to explain to the mum of mine that she might at some point experience wierd stuff -- I might be famous enough at this point for leakage in her direction. I think she thought I was bragging - no longer in a stage she can grok as bohemian. Sigh. She always missed the point.

Good. I should go to this party without nerviousity... input for thoughts. Yumm. Outside of business for a change chance. I don't know which word I meant. And she will encounter some feed-feed-feed-feed-back about her / her daughter. (I am the role assigned to me.) (Yeah right.) My cousin saw me on tv... she said. SO the loops are there - I already believe that.

Imagine not believing the loops are there. Imagine believing that it is possible to do something that others will not find out about. Singing, "I have a secret," to yourself. Sing it. Peter believes everything comes back around... so he doesn't control info flows (not), and Richard believes nothing ever comes around again... so he does. Me thinks this story is not rich enough yet to make sense... but of course, others' privacy is an issue too. Me, what do I think? Everything I do comes back at me if I travel the same channels / levels / routes as those who I knew before. But most ofthe information travels backwards. Of the past, little can travel forwards into new constructs. We don't believe each other these days. New and improved me. Heh. We believe the future tellings and not the past tellings unless we have credentials and references from reliable sources, and even then things are doubtful.

So Niels, you asked what am I thinking about... Now I know too. :)

Off now.

............................................................

So what do you do after issuing a threat? And what will I do? It was a serious one, and one meant to not be ignored. Shit.


Once upon a space, Cyberspace.

Mon Jan 29 1996

Hmmm. Right hmmm.


Lying here.

Fri Feb 2 1996

It's late tonight. I just got in alone, and I'm feeling like I should be talking with someone. I wondered who, picking up my phone messages while doing so. Only business calls. After the big seminar day on Wednesday, everybody scheduled me in tightly socially. I thik I have been less of a leisure creature than I am supposed to be lately. My leisureliness has been missed. Funny though. Except for my own invitational next Thursday, I don't know what I committed myself to. I wonder. And who is it I am to be talking with now? I wonder more to myself, and then I realize in the silence, that it is me I want to talk withto. Me.

So it's late at night after a long day, and here I am, the morning person turned night owl. Needing myself. :) How can I forget that? Too much to do. Too many people to pull together. I am afraid of becoming an evangelist. They have nice lines of privacy creating, skills that I lack though. And of course, spring lust season. Very annoying to be so tuned into bodyness that I can tell cerebrally that it is just the spring thing. I've always been a spring affair person. Me. [oh, and Moppins too.]

Back to me. This is me talking writing. Thinking. About what though? What is it I wanted to say hear? I'm not really lonely. But alone rightnow. Slicing up time in little slivers to get things done and people visited.

One of my dreams when moving here was to create a space within which I could entertain other people well. I wanted to serve as a host of events, comfortable, inviting, warming, entertaining. Without feeling the need to be interesting myself. Simply the host. This didn't work. I felt badly constrained whenever anyone came here. My things are my memory. Visitors so easily play with what are merely and simply things, and which serve me as secondary memory. My fractal environment means things to me, not sentimental things. Meanings, codes. A psych theory of memory training has the students mapping a list of things onto a territory they already know. TO recall the list, go through the territory and see the associations. This is my environment, thought without the lists... fractals structures of knowledge and to do lists.

My dream shifted as I observed the backlash in me of living so long with Peter.. of being told for so long that I was uptight. Backlash uptightness is amusing to watch oneself engage in. But really. It ruins the host idea quite nicely. Without maid service anyway.

Now my dream is to make myself interesting enough and capable enough of handling these situations such that I can attend without the shield of kitchen serf. A friend was marvellng justhte other day about how some people can walk into a social situation and be helpful, while others are simply served or uncomforatbly lacking things to do. I'm one of the former thanks to my mum... "Carolyn. Go help your Aunty Jeanne in the kitchen with tea." I never knew what to do once I got into the kitchen -- maybe she didn't know either, and so my instructions stop at getting to the kitchen. Then I'm as helpless as my friend

[interlude: Rit writes about resurrecting a diary for her here. Sigh. Richard writes about palyng raquetball with me at noon tomorrow all booked. Rita mentions trying to proposition Richard. Richard mentions being propositioned by her, she'll fly him to Hawaii if he'll sleep with her. (I'd say ... hmm ... would I say yes these day?) And Peter writes about beng nervous for tomorrow night. He is the opening act in a big 8 band venue at 183 Bathurst, and his band is giving him the jitters... or something like that. I'm going with Tracey to see him do this, and to take some publicity photos. And Kathleen wrote this morning that she hasn't hatched yet.]

So I asked Richard what love is to him. To me, it is having someone there when I'm lying helpless inbed with a heart attack knowing I'm going to die if someone else doesn't do the right stuff fast. Love to me is knowing that I can trust someone to be that caring aboutme... that they'd notice that small a change. My fear of death encapsulated. Growing up in the 'burbs with all knowing neighbours and not assembly line replacement neighbours like here. Shall I tell you how the Andy Garcia movie ended? :)

OK... So I've kept this a secret long enough. I've rounded up as many of the people here as I could -- given personality clashes, scheduling problems and etc. On Thursday, February 8, they have been invited to attend the photographing of Carolyn's Diary including me and them -- in my bathroom of all places. 24 Hours in Cyberspace: Check it out. Please write to me telling me, and everyone "How has Carolyn's Diary affected you?!" Oh and by the way... towards my goal of becoming famous enought to be safe, I invited a Discovery Canada camera team to join the day. You can see what takes place that very same night .. tune in to our Discovery Canada cable channel, on their show @discovery.ca at 7pm or perhaps 8pm. They'll be featuring me, my photographer Joe, and the man who's pulling he whole thing together, Rick Smolan. Wow!! :) To quote Richard, "Only Carolyn and Madonna know how to get media coverage for their media coverage."

And yes, I've kept this, and one other secret, for quite some time. Right Steve?!


Raquets.

Sat Feb 3 1996

Sugar and salt taste good because each is so necessary to our physical well-being. And yet, because they taste good, we are tempted to eat more of them then is good for us. Sugar and salt have developed only simplistic strategies for getting eaten. They should have thought more long term, perhaps building in a "Yuch that's too much salt these past three days" trigger too.

Perhaps there are ways of making them talk? All those late-night email owls are still sleeping in this morning. It is peaceful here with only one insane mailing list keeping me company.

Strategy... This is the state of mind in which broad, long-lasting decisions an designs are made. Many would think strategy is a social phenomenon, but once again, I am placing something commonly thought social in a phsychological framework. Cults use the strategy of attracting social people in by having an already existing attractive social institution in place and then using psychological tools on these people to change them wihtout their consent, or vice versa.

A similar method can be set up using consent as well. Some very successful businesses use this. Mary Kay, Microsoft.

miau


membrane.

Sun Feb 4 1996

Yup... breakfast

Tracey and I coast off to high cholesteral.


post fast.

Mon Feb 5 1996

Thanks to Steve and Sabina for this wonderful animation. Of course it runs only on Netscape 2 and the like. Apologies.

I wish that I wouldn't cry when I have to talk with Richard. He's been overworking himself, and now whenever I need to rely on him for anything, he simply yells at me that I'm overworking him. Why is he like that? I'm going to have to fix this problem. I hate having to cry.


A swish of capacchino.

Tue Feb 6 1996

ok. Morning to me. Wrote a couple of letters this morning, and now I must prepare the office for some work.

Riding the momentum ... holding on to the reins and laughing merrily ... a new phase in societal understanding ... smoothly ... smile

I am nervous not about camera crews... but about getting my place straightened up enough to meet some invisible standard I know not of. Relax and bring some roses home.


... and a brace of cold water.

Tue Feb 6 1996

The sun almost shines today. In isolation I sit thinking how it would be nice to be out in the world today. Tracey talks about how some days start off wrong, and she just loses it then. I'm having one of those days. Sitting thinking about Thursday, and then poof, work. And I haven't had a moment's break since. The obligations spewing forth from Richard around here hurt. I wish he'd simply grow up.

How can I wish for someone else to change though. Such doesn't happen ... rare exceptions aside. Truth of the details is not the goal here anyway. How and why I feel rather sombre now, heavy and without life. Perhaps it is because I froze a plant the other night. My Kronon plant is not well... dead. What do people do with plants that die? Funerals? Mourning? I don't know.

I don't surf the web anymore. Don't have time. Don't have interest these days. More in business then web business now. That is fun.

I need to move now.


For the brave Netscape 2 users: "24 Hours in cyberspace" and the cast of Carolyn's Diary


This 24 hours in Cyberspace.

Thu Feb 8 1996

early morning

My 24 hours today in cyberspace today. OK.. today is the day. So what am I like today? I wrote to Sage this morning about stuff, and about her not being here, and her mom. And Willa too. It's like my cybercontacts just know to check in here today, feel the space out a bit. Feel it for yourself today in person: [CBC morning news too live at 10am EST in Canada, and the CBC evening news too.]

Tracey is beaming warm thoughts my way. And I just called Hella to smile at her. So people are good today. I like that.

But me... introspection on. I'm feeling really happy. Proud of myself for acheiving one of my goals -- the road to fame. I'm feeling that maybe I shouldn't mention that in this recursive loopy way, that maybe the press is also a godel point. Of course it is. [I should run to dry my hair now, not introspect -- my brain says this loudly.] Can you feel me thinking here?

I am here. And rocks from Hella from Vancouver Island sit beside me as Moppins chirps. And soon, my cast, my friends really, will arrive for the photoshoot. I guess my mum should have believed me when I warned her last week that a bit of media might come her way.

But me. This is like trying to meditate -- all effort and little thoughts flying past, and no centering. Too much overload. Really all I have to do is smile and look pretty. and open my mouth and say quippy things for reporters. Maybe I should study! :) Old school ways die hard. In my head fly neat things to say. One liners. Cutesy phrases. And I realize that those things are honey for bees to come. The flowers, the nectar, the meaning is in the sharing I do here of myself with myself. How can I introspect in public? There. I demand of others that they open up and really be around me. And here I sit this morning, needing to get ready still, wondering about introspection in public. I should laugh out loud in irony.

And then it occurrs to me. I write here to feel my way out in the world. Be who I am here. No pretense. I am nervous, and so incredibly excited. I want everyone to really smile at me, or stare in understanding .. of what it is like to be me. Nagel had a point. He asked, "What is it like to be a bat?"

What is it like to be me. Today, in cyberspace, it is like the two have merged. As they should. I've learned about how society works by seeing its reflection in the shiny crystaline structures of what used to be a simple computer network. Now I see people and institutions, fact sheets, and games. I see us. All of us here. And now... now, I can sense the glimmerings of these reflections in the physical spaces surrounding me. I never wanted to be solipsistic, alone in a world of my own creation. And I am not. With friends and enemies in a world created by all of us, cyberspace, I find that solipsism cannot survive email. Neither can sadness, anger and hurt. The world is simply warmer and simply friendly now. And I guess I'd like cyberspace and realspace to reflect even more within each other. As I write my diary online, so I will write in realspace. Let the world see and feel what it is like to be a truly professional person.


Into the future for a moment:
further thoughts on my professionalism

............................................................

10 am - 11 am: Cyberspace goes real

The CBC is filming an uplink thing right now!! Smile in the camera! So this is it!

And they are off again! [CBC NewsWorld, Feb 8, 1996, 10 am - 11 am, with Bill Cameron.]

Joe Traver steps in. We're going to do some real light shots!!! Sunlight in the window, and my wind chimes chiming. [Joe Traver, Photographer extraordinaire, Buffalo, NY.]

And again... alright guys. we're live! And cyberspace goes real! [Live again at 10:45 am. So wh is Peter, Richard, Steve?!]

Hi Bill!

and off again...

A final round of pictures and ?? [Joe]

I wonder what this all amounts too?! This day, now. I can't think this way though. OK so now we'll type something completely off the cuff, to use another cliche badly.

And off into another... [@discovery.ca, Feb 8, 1996, 7pm. Amazing piece on Carolyn's Diary and 24 Hours in Cyberspace.]

............................................................

still later..

Peter's feelings were hurt because he wasn't featured in a photo. Sigh.. I wonder if it is ever possible to keep him happy for long.

Geeezzz... and here are our pictures of them: 24 Hours in Carolyn's Apartment. I love it: Thanks Paul and Craig and Barry of @discovery.ca for getting me started and for staying with me! :)

And goodnight world!

And Moppins the flat black streak that headed forthe deep dark rcesses of my closet miaus even if she didn't make it into a picture. She's not out of the closet herself.


just another day in cyberspace.

Fri Feb 9 1996

Isn't that the point? So I slept well. And Moppins is recovering from her adventures too. I really look forward to the Jamaica trip next week. Tan lines, and warmth in my bones. Yum.

I figured yesterday out... the questions I was asked. Next week is valentine's day, and the theme is rife throughout the media. I actually read a newspaper yesterday looking for articles about Cyberspace. :) And yeah, everything was surprisingly pink. It explains the colours of lipstick on sale last week too. "So who's really your romantic love, Carolyn? Is it really Peter? Or perhaps Richard? And who is Steve? What about that fellow in London, Niels?" See. My question back is... what about all the other interesting people I know who simply happen to be female? :) Boy.. going on national tv and trying to explain that my friends aren't quite as bad as they seem here is really fun.

Although I try to use this space to keep in touch with me, the soap opera aspects are quite amusing too. Someone wrote yesterday to me after seeing the broadcast -- a Dear Ann Landers letter really. He even apologized for that. And there I had a bad rap about acusing other's of having soap opera lives.

This is really incredible though. My way of coping: this was all rather boring. Tamp down that excitment before and after into normal space. Let only the event itself be exciting and fun. Normal space. The place where one acts sanely, and for the good of the future. Preferred place of this mentality.

And of course, off to a meeting! Richard and I switched meetings this morning. Last minute. Really fun! Almost like switching lives. :) miau


purrr...

Sat Feb 10 1996

...from Moppins.

It's snowing here, gentle heavy flakes. I'm thinkng a bit too much about coordinating with Peter and Tracey today. I promised myself to both of them for the whole day, independently. And of course, there is only one me. So now they're being interlaced, which is a drag. Both of them are relaxing and fun to be around, and it is a big day in both cases. I am Tracey's date to her brother's wedding today. I am going to insist on blowing all the blue collar minds there -- lesbians!! :) And Peter has scheduled quite a number of appointments for building viewing. We're putting in a bid on the very first one that meets our rather flexible requirements. The one we saw yesterday was simply too small. Very exciting.

So me. Forced introspection... just a sec.. I need to take the heavy towel off my hair.

Isn't it funny to watch someone decide to relax and get into their thoughts -- and then find something foolish and out of touch to do instead.. towels indeed. So, who am I today?

Some reporter asked me why I actually want to be famous. What an interesting question. I hadn't imagined that the opposite could be desireable -very seriously anyway. Walking around yesterday in the world felt disappointing. People did not stop me on the street and say hi. So even fame is limited to the people who are triggered by it. I wonder if only dull people care aboutthe famous. Oh dear. No, I met Niels this way. It isn't an absolute. And I find the famous interesting... but as subjects of analysis. As explanation or roadmaps or trailblazers. And I look to people who are not using acting as the method, although withthe amount of image contral actors get, I'm surprised anyone else can complete. We'll see.

Not inciteful that. What is then... why fame. It feels good. I like the success feeling of achieving something I wanted to achieve. Even when the thing itself is unexpected in what it is. That's cool. I take opportunites. I don't have expectations generally. So things are cool.

Why fame? It's an opportunity to travel ever higher in the social constructs of our lives. And it's in the contrast class with coach potato. Which would you choose? (Don't answer that too loudly please. It might hurt.)


finale

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