The reason why social media has gotten so much worse recently (reddits recent fuck-up, everything on Twitter since Musk, FB being FB, Tumblrs various attempts at expanding profitability recently) is because it is no longer possible to exist as a company by fencing in large parts of our social life and having investment money pump in on the basis of expected future value of that amount of information when it suddenly costs money to loan money due to suddenly high interest rates after the inflationary crisis of the last year, which has made the current model of the Internet that has existed for the last about 10 years completely unsustainable. All of them need to become profitable or die, and they are learning very quickly that that just isn’t possible no matter how much of the life and information of the users one steals. We are witnessing the death-throes of Web2.0, and what comes after is as yet unclear.
Some people in the reblogs seems to have bought the idiotic idea that the future of the internet is some sort of crypto blockchain integration applying free market principles to everything we do online. Luckily, crypto is also dependent on free credit, and their vision for the future of the internet will die just as hard as Reddit. I’m actually fairly optimistic about the death of Web2.0, which I think is one of the worse forms the internet could take.
About 20,000 years ago, a giant Pleistocene jaguar ventured into a small opening in the mountain foothills, but soon found that this cave was far bigger than it bargained for. It lost its way in the dark, winding passageways, wandering for several days before eventually falling to its death in a narrow crevice, leaving behind its bones and perfectly preserved paw prints for us to find thousands of years later.
This was the first, but not the only, record of those who ventured into Craighead Caverns. Pottery, weapons and jewelry from the Cherokee people have been found in rooms up to a mile from the entrance, dating back at least a thousand years. Later, the caverns were used as a refrigerator for storing food in the summer, as a mine, a mushroom farm, and even as a dance hall. All throughout its history, there were legends of a great underground lake somewhere inside the vast caves, but no one knew where.
This changed in 1905, when a 13-year old boy was exploring the cave. Three hundred feet below the surface, he crawled through a narrow tunnel, and found himself standing in an enormous, half-submerged chasm. It was so large, in fact, that his light illuminated nothing but water. He began to throw balls of mud in an attempt to find the walls of the cavern, but he only heard splashing in response.
We now know that this lake is about four and a half acres, making it the largest underground lake in North America and the second largest in the world. But that’s only on the surface.
Diving explorations have revealed that this lake is seemingly bottomless. Beneath the ethereal water lies a series of caverns so deep that no end has been found. Divers have mapped about 1,500 feet in depth in just one of the main passageways. One diver, descending into a previously unknown chamber with a sonar device, hugged the wall and took readings all around him. There was nothing but more water in every direction.
At present, there are no further plans to continue exploration, due to the hazardous conditions in the depths of the sea. It seems, then, that the true scope of this lake may forever remain a mystery. Perhaps it is best that we leave alone this strange, bottomless abyss far beneath the ancient Appalachian mountains, to remain as dark and unknown as it was when that jaguar took its first ill-fated steps inside.
No but guys, GUYS, we need to talk about how important this scene is. Because the commonly accepted lore about unicorns is that they are so good and pure that they’ll only appear to young virginal girls. Because Molly Grue is a middle-aged woman who has been living with bandits for most of her life and is as far from innocent and virginal as you’re likely to get. Because she’s so angry that this creature, embodying everything that society tells her she’s lost, everything she’s thrown away through her own choices, is here now when all that The Unicorn represents is long since behind her. Because she knows, in a way that only someone who’s been steeped in an oppressive system her entire life can ever know, that she’s missed her chance and doesn’t deserve to be seeing a unicorn now.
And you know what? The Unicorn doesn’t give two fucks about her virginity, about her supposed loss of innocence and purity. She’s not repelled by Molly being older, being experienced, being a full human person. None of that has ever mattered to unicorns, only to the people telling stories about them. Not only does she step in to physically comfort her here, but before long this bandit’s wife becomes her friend, closer to her in most ways than Schmendrick.
This story is fucking revolutionary, you guys, and I just have a lot of feelings about it.
I heard Peter S. Beagle speak about this scene at a convention once. He said he just kept writing and writing into the scene and suddenly here was this powerful, moving dialogue which came out very strong and natural, flowing directly from inspiration.
He said it was one of those moments when “the writer just gets really lucky.”
This is one of those scenes you nebulously get when you’re ten and comes up and punches you in the face when you’re thirty.
Passenger trains in US vs Europe (image is making the rounds among U.S. transit advocates today)
High speed rail in China on 2008 VS 2020
Sometimes you just need to be certain.
The first group of women got on the train at Mountain View. Older, maybe in their fifties. White women from prosperous families of the sort in these parts. They sat and quietly went unnoticed.
Then three more women got on at Palo Alto and there was a tremendous show of elation. Friends, it would seem. They hugged joyfully. The new group included two women newly arrived from Germany, still feeling the effect of the long flight. The seats on this train come in pairs and all face forward, so the group began to take pairs of seats toward the back of the car. The chatter increased. Ten minutes later, somewhere around Belmont, another woman joined them. More smiles and introductions. Soon, those sitting furthest ahead had to turn around on their seats and kneel to face backward and join the myriad conversations.
They discussed their children, those who just got married or are about to, the latest news about aging parents. More stops passed, more members of the party appeared. Shirley in Burlingame, Stella in San Bruno. Their galaxy expanded and took up half of the seats on the first floor of the train. Their stars lit up the surrounding space.
Outside, it was a gloomy sky. Traffic lumbered past trees along distant freeways as I read about forgotten gods and carousels. Old neighborhoods that continued to relent to the pressures of development swept by until we reached San Bruno mountain, where things remained roughly as they had since I began to know them. Listening to those women, their words floating up in thirds and fifths, I realized there would be no going back. Just the next time we could meet, the next update on this and that. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we will get the chance.
The women got off at Bayshore, an old place on the edge of everything. I can’t imagine what they’ll find. But they were thrilled to be there, together.
