Radiosilence

Kat and I are about to unplug from the great Web of Blue Words. We're closing on the house on Thursday, and we're going to do our best to move in on Sunday afternoon, with the help of many good friends and the aid of Taco Soup to feed this standing army. This means that, at least for a while, we'll be sans internet. It'll be difficult to get back into it, I already know, because any time I spend away from the World Wide Web (i.e., the Beast That Cannot Be Fed) only adds to my aversion to getting re-involved with it. Ah, well. I suppose I can't ignore my email forever, seeing as it's some folks' only way of keeping in touch. That means that, likely, I'll be writing here again whenever we get our big radiosonde beacon up and running, which could take a while. So, I'll be checking messages for a few more days, and maybe at the Apple Store at West Town for a bit after that, just to keep abreast of things.

The man stood up and walked across the floor. He rolled that last 'Goodnight' over his tongue again, perceiving its unapproachable pallor in the face of the silence to come. He let the music finish and turned off the transmission, chewing the cardboard flavor of the static-less quiet. The old red light outside the studio door was off now.

Goodnight.