deobald.ca

Upon waking from a fevered dream, in which I was fully convinced we (the good people of Earth) were sent back to the year 1996, I re-evaluated the potential of transactional, social art made universally visible through the limitless power of interconnected computers and decided that the irony of my chosen primary discipline was the associated illative: that one should resist publication or display of works -- written or otherwise -- for fear of criticism from a community inundated with cretins not unlike myself who are participating in similar activities appraised on any number of scales or for feeling that one is so close to the metal, so to speak, that the two might become joined and one's own self will be lost in the cold, humanless waste that is (or once was, or shall soon be) the Internet... until, of course, I realized that just one more self-referential argument, which is of course self-defeated before it can be picked apart by one thousand faceless, soulless, ruthless digital vultures is perhaps just what we need, since garnishing thoughts such as these with terms like "meta" and (much to the combined amusement of the same good people of Earth) "independent" is not only cliché but cool -- as long as you are loved by complete strangers in a worldwide grade 10 Mathematics class, which I am most certainly not since I always performed reasonably well in Math and being cool has never been an ambition of mine.

So I made a website.