PC = Personal Catastrophe

If, when I was young, someone told me that someday, there would be one single machine that would be able to... store and play-on-demand my entire record collection, press my own LPs and 45s, develop, view and professionally edit every still picture and home movie I've ever taken, watch theatrical films in the comfort and convenience of my own living room, send teletype messages anywhere in mere seconds, allow me to order from every mail order catalog in the world, access whole vast libraries of information at will, be my own full-service travel agent, store, analyze and archive all of my research data, and almost instantly find porn of every imaginable sort without going through the clandestine "plain brown wrapper" routine... I never would have believed it. No one back in bygone days could have forseen such an invention.

But you know something? There's one thing I've found that no personal computer can do for me. They can't, by themselves, make me happy. In fact, looking at my life today in general, I have to say, I am nowhere near as happy or fulfilled a person now than I was before I ever owned a PC. Before 1985, I was radiantly and rapturously happy. Today, I am a wretched, empty and desperately unhappy creature – a complete hollow shadow of the promising young man I once was.

Computers didn't do this to me by themselves, though. I freely acknowledge – it's how I've used computers that's resulted in my destruction. The sad fact is, though, that this is how things are, and that there's no going back for me. I am helplessly addicted to this supremely seductive machine. And if its effect on my life has been this bad thus far, I can only imagine and despair at how much worse it's going to be for me in years to come...

 

PC = Personal Catastrophe

If, when I was young, someone told me that someday, there would be one single machine that would be able to... store and play-on-demand my entire record collection, press my own LPs and 45s, develop, view and professionally edit every still picture and home movie I've ever taken, watch theatrical films in the comfort and convenience of my own living room, send teletype messages anywhere in mere seconds, allow me to order from every mail order catalog in the world, access whole vast libraries of information at will, be my own full-service travel agent, store, analyze and archive all of my research data, and almost instantly find porn of every imaginable sort without going through the clandestine "plain brown wrapper" routine... I never would have believed it. No one back in bygone days could have forseen such an invention.

But you know something? There's one thing I've found that no personal computer can do for me. They can't, by themselves, make me happy. In fact, looking at my life today in general, I have to say, I am nowhere near as happy or fulfilled a person now than I was before I ever owned a PC. Before 1985, I was radiantly and rapturously happy. Today, I am a wretched, empty and desperately unhappy creature – a complete hollow shadow of the promising young man I once was.

Computers didn't do this to me by themselves, though. I freely acknowledge – it's how I've used computers that's resulted in my destruction. The sad fact is, though, that this is how things are, and that there's no going back for me. I am helplessly addicted to this supremely seductive machine. And if its effect on my life has been this bad thus far, I can only imagine and despair at how much worse it's going to be for me in years to come...

 

The simpler life

Something else that's dawned on me lately. I was much happier when I had much less: less money, less material things in general. There was a time when I and everything I owned occupied one single room.

The place where I was the happiest in my whole life was the first place I lived after moving out of my parents' house. In 1983, at the age of 28, I moved 700 miles away from my L.A.-area birthplace, and rented a room in this recently-restored 115-year-old farm house in Arcata, California. My room was on the bottom floor at left, and my rent was $100 a month. That's my Toyota truck there in front - the only vehicle I ever bought new.




click image to enlarge

( Enter my otter shrine... )

I was such a pure human being then. Pure in mind, pure in spirit, and mostly pure in body. I drank less back then than in any period of my adult life; didn't smoke pot at all because I couldn't afford it. I still smoked cigarettes, though. The thought disgusts me now, but I did manage to quit in 1986, after smoking killed my father.

My "personal hypocrisy index" was also the lowest of my life back then. I lived exactly what I believed in, every minute of every day. I was on what Carlos Castaneda called "a path with heart." I lived in the spiritual and physical presence of my zootheistic Deity. It was literally my Heaven on Earth.

But today, I've veered away from my old path. The material has entirely replaced the spiritual in my life, and corrupted me. I feel lost now. I yearn to return, but I can't find my way home anymore...

 

The simpler life

Something else that's dawned on me lately. I was much happier when I had much less: less money, less material things in general. There was a time when I and everything I owned occupied one single room.

The place where I was the happiest in my whole life was the first place I lived after moving out of my parents' house. In 1983, at the age of 28, I moved 700 miles away from my L.A.-area birthplace, and rented a room in this recently-restored 115-year-old farm house in Arcata, California. My room was on the bottom floor at left, and my rent was $100 a month. That's my Toyota truck there in front - the only vehicle I ever bought new.




click image to enlarge

( Enter my otter shrine... )

I was such a pure human being then. Pure in mind, pure in spirit, and mostly pure in body. I drank less back then than in any period of my adult life; didn't smoke pot at all because I couldn't afford it. I still smoked cigarettes, though. The thought disgusts me now, but I did manage to quit in 1986, after smoking killed my father.

My "personal hypocrisy index" was also the lowest of my life back then. I lived exactly what I believed in, every minute of every day. I was on what Carlos Castaneda called "a path with heart." I lived in the spiritual and physical presence of my zootheistic Deity. It was literally my Heaven on Earth.

But today, I've veered away from my old path. The material has entirely replaced the spiritual in my life, and corrupted me. I feel lost now. I yearn to return, but I can't find my way home anymore...