spleen

Evite

For those of you who have email accounts at somniloquy.org, I probably should have told you long ago: somniloquy.org does not permit email from the Evite corporation. All Evites are returned to sender.

There are a number of reasons for this:

1. Evite does not permit a way for users to opt out of receiving any email whatsover from them. Sure, I can opt out of receiving Evites from Joe-Jackass about his grade school reunion, but what if I never want to receive any email whatsoever from these jerks? There's no way to prevent it.
2. Evite places remote images in its emails. This means they are tracking whether or not you open an Evite, and keeping a record of it.
3. Evite has twice been the subject of lawsuits because they allegedly sold email addresses of their users to spammers.
4. Evite is big business. They're owned by IAC, who also owns Expedia, Ticketmaster, Match.com, and Ask Jeeves, to mention just a few.
5. I was sick of receiving shitloads of worthless email regarding some asshole's party in Queens or Brooklyn or Jersey or wherever, and felt like my inbox was being held hostage by it (see point 1: no opting out).

Sorry if this inconveniences you. But that's the way it's going to be.

Posted in computery stuff, rant | No Comments »

what my dream told me

There are basically two types of ghosts. The first type isn't really a ghost, exactly, but more a recording of an event that replays to haunt the occupant of a house. See, certain types of emotions radiate from deep within us, and they can become trapped in organic materials just like other forms of energy. As those organic materials - stone, wood, brick - decay or change form, they slowly release that energy. Most of the time, it's simply a feeling, a sensation. But under certain circumstances, an event can be recorded with astonishing acuity. These are events that play over and over and over again with no meaning and no variation. There's no one there, no consciousness, just this event.

The second type is the one we usually refer to when we say "ghost." These are the ones who died but refused to let go of life. For them, life becomes a delusion in which they're forever lost. They cling so tenaciously, with no capacity to understand what has happened to them, that the house itself becomes their physical form. Remember those intense bouts of depression, the ones that in retrospect feel like some nightmare in which you had no control over your actions? That's how they feel constantly. To haunt is to be infected with a special kind of madness, eternally trapped in this dream, with no new memories and no way out. The ghost can't learn new things. It can't remember what has happened to it after death. It can only remember its life, the sensation of it, certain faces, desire. You cannot make friends with them, you cannot expect them to remember you, and you can never, ever trust them unless they knew you in life. If it remains in this state long enough, it will eventually lose all true sense of its life, all memories, and surrender its humanity entirely.

Of the lingerers, there are three distinct kinds. First, the ones trapped behind the wall. They can see us, but only as if looking through water or distorted glass. They push against this wall constantly, desperately trying to re-enter our world, and they live in a bewildered terror. They own nothing they recognize, not even hands or bodies. These are the cold spots. These are the ones who make lights flicker and pipes burst.

Then there are the ones who hold so intensely to life that their memory of themselves becomes what they are. They're the manifesters. They refuse to surrender the body or admit in any way that they're not part of the living world. These are the ones who appear as shadows and apparitions, sometimes with voices. They can move some objects, open doors, appear in mirrors, leave handprints on windows.

The last kind is the most terrible. These are the ones with the sight. They see us as we see them. They truly believe they're still alive, and they see the living as ghostly forms who have entered their homes. They can't understand why they can't leave, can't walk to the supermarket or call for help, and they cry their eyes out every time they see us go to the bathroom or fumble out of bed in the middle of the night for a glass of water. They see us as invaders, and they will do anything in their power to be rid of us. These are the ones who blow out pilot lights, rattle beds, slam doors. They are the worst of the dead. Beware of them. They will kill you if they can.

Posted in dreams | No Comments »