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I'm Gone: Booze, Suicide, and John Thompson
As these things sometimes do, the poem prompted another one, this one a proper ghazal. Well, a proper Canadian ghazal, anyway, in the form made famous by Thompson and then expanded by so many others (Phyllis Webb and Isabella Wang being my favourites).
I've been saying that I'm bouncing off cohost. That's not entirely true. I still check my feed every day, and I'm glad I do. Today I saw a post about someone setting up a BBS basically for messages only - no doors, and only a few files (someone uploaded Doom and Keen!). After work yesterday, I made supper for us, played with the younger dog, had some cherry cider. Sat down, and logged in. The second BBS I've called (logged into? telnetted? what's the term in this modemless age?) in the last couple years, the first, Seabreeze BBS, really just for doors: some LORD, some Tele-Arena, the odd game of Yahtzee.
And this new board is actually...active? There are people there, posting? It's like I've stepped back in time thirty years, only this time, the worst people in my life aren't following my electronic footsteps board to board, then over to the web.
Your alias betrays you. Your writing style betrays you. So, I've been working on this.
I picked a new alias. Not winter, not what I've been using on the small web, definitely nothing from my BBS days, nostalgic as that'd be. I'm learning from my past. Have to keep moving. No admissions re: location, no reused aliases, definitely no real names. Not unless I trust you. I used to be trackable. Hopefully not anymore.
Who knows how long this'll last. Trying not to think about that. Trying instead to just enjoy it as long as it's around. Check it daily. Post. Be kind. When I first called BBSs I was young, 13, 14, and a lot of the people in that scene were older. 20s and 30s. Some of them were awful. Some of them hurt me. And some were good. So now that I'm the greybeard, I'm hoping I can be more the latter. Elder technologist? Anonymous nice guy? Telnet dad.