For a number of reasons, using the Web as the vehicle for my experiment makes perfect sense. To those who've never really experienced life without it, the idea of not using the Web—and the electronic tools that provide access to it—is probably similar to rejecting the traditional telephone, or television. Sure, it's been done, but not by any significant number of people, especially not here in the USA.
I don't mean to imply that art isn't necessary, but unlike art, the Web doesn't just imitate life; it's gone beyond that, and into the realm of life support. No longer the crude, cartoonlike approximation of life it once was, the Web—in concert with the underlying support structure affectionately known as the Net—has now become a keystone of commerce, even as it levels the playing field for small business.
In fact, the Web has made possible an entirely new caste of small-business owner. Once unthinkable, business on a global scale can now be successfully accomplished by the bathrobe entrepreneur with little more overhead than a computer, rudimentary software, and a connection to the Internet. But this is where the road forks. Lots of people sit around in bathrobes staring at Web-connected computers, and no doubt many are running a business of some sort, but there must still be significant resistance to the idea or there wouldn't be so many vehicles on the road during rush hour.
I know. It's an oversimplification; there are more elements in that equation. Still, assuming relatively equal portions of inspiration, perspiration and time are available to large and small business alike, and factoring in reasonable accessibility to modern hardware and software, any lingering resistance to the idea of remote employees—workers who aren't physically there—may have more to do with tradition than practicality.
There are jobs that demand physical proximity to coworkers, clients, or both. But many simply do not, and if mere tradition isn't the culprit—nor the Web-induced cynicism mentioned in the previous monologue—there must be another reason, and maybe more than one.
The experiment continues.
Since its inception, the Web has struggled to find a place in the hearts and minds of consumers. But after a couple false starts—and lingering resistance to the idea of Online Everything—the concept has gained considerable traction, and now it's difficult to imagine life without e-books and magazines, e-news, e-banking, e-music and video, and in fact almost anything that can be digitized and sent through the virtual pipelines of the Web. 
If the eyes are the windows of the soul, what vista does the third eye allow? A view beyond the grasp of physical senses, to be sure, but the soul inhabits that domain already. 
I think I might be alienated. I don't mean just different, or even utterly separate from humankind in general. I mean it in the more literal sense of being permeated with DNA that isn't like my neighbor's DNA. I haven't been blessed with a full-scale DNA analysis lately, but that doesn't mean there's no evidence to support my conviction that I'm not really human. 
Where I live, the sun currently sets one minute later every day. This happy, incremental increase in available late-day sunlight continues into the middle of June, where the whole thing stalls and then begins to collapse. It's disappointing, and I'm not looking forward to it at all. 
How do we learn to communicate? Like subtle hues from the primary color, shades of meaning draw the listener — and the reader, too — toward a finer, more complete understanding of darkness and light. 
The last time I saw the girl with the multicolored hair, she was following sunbeams through the kitchen door and ran, laughing, out into the world to find another bright friend. 
I knew I was going to hell, but maybe I just didn't care. The nightmares — the ones in which I stood before the throne of judgment — began to intrude on my waking hours, but still I procrastinated. By the time I began to seriously rethink my position on writing — or more to the point, my avoidance of it — it was too late. In these dreams, I had committed the unpardonable sin. I had neglected my blog for months, and the sentence was eternity in a place with insignificant site traffic. 
If you've ever posted an ad on the Internet, you know it's a great way to attract the attention of scoundrels and thieves. Fortunately, their tactics are often so comical that they're likely to generate laughter, but little else. 
My new neighborhood is my old neighborhood. I don't remember the first time I lived here; I wasn't even a year old then. The second time was exactly four years ago, but I didn't stay. If there's any charm to the idea of the treble cycle, this ought to be the one that matters, because I've never heard interesting stories about four repetitions of anything. 
I love moving as much as the next guy, which is to say, not that much. Stuff accumulates, and that stuff has to be put in boxes, carried out, carried in, and then unpacked again so it can serve as the foundation for new accumulations. Lists must be made and schedules adhered to, and of course there's the cleaning ritual at the previous address. Then there's the settling-in period at the new place, where nothing is where it ought to be anymore, causing the brain to forge new connections in order to locate things like toothpaste, and food. 
