Random Journal

Out of the blue. I got to thinking. If you live in Vermont, you love Burlington, Vermont. But you don’t actually want to live in Burlington, Vermont. Brewington is a pretty cool place to call home.

I expect to get back on Meta eventually, but it won’t change much. The final edition of the Technossance Magazine is tightly secured with Twitter X links for search. Twitter X is a stable social media platform.

The tech-ass scammer might’ve gotten away with whatever, but he’ll eventually get caught. When he gets caught, it’s his problem. I didn’t let him get the last word. Before blocking him, I released a rant. I went old-school. You normally shouldn’t interact, but this’s the last time I go “social” and I wanted to do it like a pro.

I worked for a long time at Pelmorex and Lionheart. I shared a story with one of my sons about how my job was so boring that I couldn’t wait to get home and focus on fun work instead. I put in a ton of extra hours writing and recording. Almost didn’t have time for records, but I remember some of my favourites.

Top 5 Songs:

1. “My Way” by Frank Sinatra ‧ 1969.
2. “Ripple” by Grateful Dead ‧ 1970.
3. “Chantilly Lace” by The Big Bopper ‧ 1958.
4. “Sweet Leaf” by Black Sabbath ‧ 1971.
5. “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan ‧ 1965.

The Network Man had spent his entire life believing in radio. Every morning, he walked into the station, switched on the transmitter, and watched the little red light glow like a heartbeat. He knew the jingles, the DJs, the late-night callers, and every strange noise that ever came through the studio speakers.

Then one day, the phones stopped ringing.

Nobody seemed to be listening anymore. The ratings disappeared, advertisers pulled their money, and the network slowly became a collection of empty studios and dusty microphones. The Network Man kept showing up anyway, broadcasting to an audience that seemed to have vanished from the planet. Everyone was living in a Technossance or something.

Eventually, he went broke. It was sad. He couldn’t work anymore. He sold his car, then his equipment, and finally the old radio that had sat beside his bed for thirty-five years. On his last night at the station, he sat alone behind the microphone and whispered, “Is anybody there?” There was only static. He smiled anyway, because for one final moment, he heard it.