So if you don't know I planted an apple in my Apple desktop where I have made digital work with the help of a Wacom Cintiq since 2009. It was in response to Steve Jobs passing and a fleeting grasp on reality I have since recovered from. It worked for a while, much to my horror, for almost half a year after the fact. But recently it made this noise, this noise that when I was at the top of the staircase I could hear it downstairs. So I shut it down for a couple of days. When I tried to turn it back on it started for a moment and then *pop* it was off. On that day it died.
I have been working with clay a lot recently.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
I came downstairs and stuffed five or more pieces of gum in my mouth, the ritual unwrapping preparing me for the task of twisting in the knobs of the large touch screen that's served me patiently for so long into the computer whose painted exterior I have reassembled after the fateful day after Steve Jobs died when I poured water on its insides in the attempt to grow an apple I had acquired by trading a man in a gallery some drawings. And to my terror, it made its hello call with just a plug and the image of SpongeBob hammering in toast to his table while Mr. Krabs looks on dismayed filled my scratched screen. With a frenzied energy I finished setting it up, while it still wiped its eyes from its long slumber. So here I am, on-line for the first time in a month. Terrified of my inbox, and still so strangely adapted to computers.