What shall we say then, the web is DANGEROUS, and we who inhabit it are its danger and its substance, forming out of the emptiness from which we perform our search, the harried little nuances that comprise each other's lives, And it is is just this frantic search that is the life of the web as it quivers and transforms, as it aches


and risks, asserting itself, as it were, as an epistemologcal form. . . that which justifies itself through the means that it employs, simply by being the means that it employs . . . though in knowing this we are in danger of forgetting what we came for, though perhaps what we came for is not what we had hoped. . .

which leads us to desire as the substance of even this cyber-world, this digital paroxysm of our digitized hopes. . . .




hopes which rest in the images of desire. .

hopes which please us in the having, and titillate us with the anticipation of our approach, hopes which have no home in the three dimensional, which kiss us and turn us from what was to what may never be. . .and in that oblvion we are reminded that we never were, and the emptiness of our lives becomes a fulfillment, or so it seems,

since we have nothing else to measure it by, and the death that is always approaching is rendered an abstraction until it takes us from our dreams.

into the nothing we inhabit, which is filled with us anyway, and we have only our memories of