I work with information. So do you.
Information is like little eyes, only they’re abstracted out, looking down from behind our head, onto what’s in front of us. Even truly empirical information, which is rare and precious, passes through this lens.
We make our own information. We consume the information of others. One of the striking problems in black hole theories is information loss, or preservation.
In science, something is likely true if it can be tested by multiple, independent information sources. The more independent sources, the better. The more angles of approach, the better.
These messages I send you also get posted on a blog. Excluding spam and search engine pings, there are approximately 150 different people who read something I’ve written each day. The largest majority of people are Comcast customers, followed by Road Runner (Time Warner). AT&T, who monitors us — you don’t see their name faded through the background of these companies. But it’s there.
Oddly, considering the content of what I write, most people arrive here because they were seeking information about gay men. Married gay men, hot gay men, bad gays, gay hugs, gay love, gay muscle men and naked gay men. One out of three people choose to say “gay guy” rather than “gay men”. That’s a somewhat interesting subtlety.
Most view what I write from the United States, followed by the United Kingdom, then Australia, Canada and Germany. The most links that come to my blog are from other people’s sites – individuals linking from their personal profiles on Rupert Murdock’s MySpace site.
The vast majority of visitors do not leave comments, but read more than one article. In all that I’ve written, the second most commented-upon piece is the one that talks about gay marriage and has a picture Andy and Mark. The piece is about our perceptions, mental and spiritual, that change over time, mixed in with time travel. The comments are mostly about “hotness”. For some reason, the piece that receives the most spam is the one about Amy and Jarreau’s wedding.
I certainly can’t bitch about horniness, hotness and being confused since I have a glass house of my own. As one guy commented on my piece about time and perception:
I love how half the gay men missed the point about the story.. and went straight for sex.. It’s pigs like you that give us all a bad rep. Take your postings to the other. sites..
But that’s what sells, isn’t it? The sexy, the glittery, and the easy packages. The attention of where your dick or ego draws you, that goal, where everything else is just noise. That’s okay, though. The subconscious works wonders, as probably does other things. It’s just slower. And almost everyone fights what they cannot control, or buries their heads.
Love holds a ranking, though. It goes: cartoon, sex, time, old, then love. It is ahead of bad, supercomputer and muscle. The fifth piece I wrote here is the second most popular and the most commented-upon: “Married Men Who Aren’t Gay“. It is also the subject I receive the most personal emails from the blog about. They have all been confessionals, but I have no absolution.
Of all the pieces not related to sex, the most popular is about the observatories on Mount Graham. And this reminds me that I never finished writing about the observatories in Arizona and New Mexico. Positivity comes in next.
Not surprisingly there is a predictability about all this — the same predictability that causes many people to become irritated with me. I used to get told a lot to look what other people are doing when I create software. One of the great, old postmodern questions is, does TV reflect society, or does society reflect TV? A historian once told me, there is nothing more dangerous than the self-educated.
Then, in a question where you have choices A, B, C and D – “none of the above” is the safest bet. And depending on who wrote the question, it might also be the best. But you have no voice choosing “none of the above”. The publisher has played their part, while the tallying machine munches on.
It makes me care, strangely, all the more, what you might be feeling underneath the words. Maybe it’s just empathy for the underdog, no matter how many dogs live below. Maybe it’s self-justification. Or maybe just being alive within something.
A game is nothing more than its players — the rules, shaped by their individual peculiarities. Another person, another body, and the game. Drawn in one direction, then yanked in another. Loose chains, willingly worn.