08.Mar.2001

for us all

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the ftp server of death

I am cosmically distressed because my FTP server has somehow managed to commit suicide subsequently after the sane idea of hosting my graphics from my ISP drew itself into my brain matter. Of course, this leaves me dreadfully upset and jarred; the idea which harbours itself in my cells must be entertained immediately, or my zealous self-esteem level plummets to an early grave.
I almost spelled that grace.
That is very goth of me.
I have been hanging around the Diaryland community and for some twisted sisterly reason (twisted sister! geddit?) I feel that we are all a family somehow.

We have our uber-geeks who code javascript cursor effects in their sleep -- these people also make me wet with anticipation -- we have big brother artist who strives, we have the tortured girls colliding violently with womanhood who hunger for something, we have our spunky sons, we have the Euros whose diaries I don't understand -- however the lay-out is in.tense.! --, and we have our den parents, such as the tarty-arty kitties.r.cute. and the Sanctuary Light. Sanct has "mray" in their site-address. Could this stand for Man-Ray? Could it be? Man-Ray? The greatest photographer that ever graced our lives?

But I, somewhere in the middle, feel this strange camaraderie with everyone here. I am drawn to the Members area where it depicts those who have just recently updated. Ours is a vast community. My heart blends with those who simultaneously spill their guts into the grey Diaryland java box. We are all related, and this is baffling but ... strangely fulfilling.

All I'm saying
is come around
tell me about the
life you've found.

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time & machine