I’m thinking of quieter computing. Everything these days is glass and refresh rates, is clouds and cloud-shapes, is brought to you in feeds and in troughs. It’s hard not to pine for a forested internet, an imagined one of searching and finding, of patient and aimless wandering.

I think of raising the torch overhead to read long-form, personal updates from anons I somehow feel I know, following their links into the underbrush, marking the path with #551A8B streaks . The rin gong resonance that rises when I let my cursor drift along the edges of a hand-made and hand-honed webring.

We can’t “go back” — we’re remembering it wrong anyway.…