It's a happy bloggy birthday to Schroedinger's Tabby born three years ago today, and we at Tabby mansion are celebrating with a plate of digital jellymeat as we speak.
The Tabby blog is pretty much defunct lately as is possible to see, and we can partly blame Facebook for that, it's so much more interactive and easy, and provides instant gratification.
But any excuse for a Party even on the empty dusty stage of a half-abandoned blog...
Actually I have been thinking of deleting the whole shebang, and still not sure what to do and where to go. People are apparently still reading the Tabby though, according to blogger stats, but there's a fair bit of tut-tutting I gather and who wants shit like that? Life's too short... (A post of mine was called "abusive" on another blog this year, which was a bit rich, because the accusation was made by someone who is apparently an apologist for an abuse I was railing against!)
The word *abusive* is being abused. By the way. (Note for a future blog meditation.)
More to the point, my accuser didn't just attack the Tabby's right to free speech (she being from the School of policing the right of her and her own to do and say what they damn well please as long as it doesn't hurt anyone in their social and professional network), she also outed the Tabby publicly. So she attacked my right to remain semi-anonymous.
Now the identity of the Tabby's author was never much of a secret as such, but until then it had been a reasonably safe place for me where I hoped that the psycho stalkers that I inherited might not find me. They're all over my other blog, the work one, that is part of the job.
The Tabby was meant to be an escape for me from my job, somewhere where I could be myself without the spectre of my professional responsibility overwhelming the other things that are important in my life: cats, train rides, politics, poetry, my own ocasional poetry scribblings too, contemplation, science fiction... food. etc. There was only one major 'rule' for the blog and that was it was to "not mention the war..."
Unfortunately I did mention the metaphorical 'war', because like all messy fields of conflict it isn't something I can turn off at 5pm, it does invade my real life, it is my real life as well.
Which is why Facebook has been enjoyable for me, a place where I've managed (so far) to more or less integrate many facets of me and what I do (admittedly while also having to block the key *trolls* that were harassing and stalking me around the internet - the ones who had led me to attempt to resort to an anonymous forum in the first place). On fb I have also been able to judiciously unfriend or otherwise avoid a handful of frenemies and bullies who seemed to be trying to silence or manage me.
Anyway I did sometime earlier this year break the cardinal Tabby blog rule and make a statement - a personal one, about my hurt and outrage at the crass exploitation not just of a great New Zealander, but of someone I knew and loved as a person, who was being grievously misrepresented... I howled this painful cry of anguish on the Tabby blog..
Mistake. It's my own fault I was outed. There are 'laws' of physics, and self-imposed rules, and there are social codes. I broke one of them at least, and I think the cat in the box might be suffering rigor mortis as a consequence.
Of course it's like raging against the tides, and against the movement of seismic plates, to rage against the natural processes of appropriation and mythmaking. But the Tabby is about a cry for justice among other things. (It has also been about celebrating really good pudding.)
And of course it always pisses the bullies off when their freedom to steal and cheat and lie is challenged. That's not surprising, and I don't shy away from that kind of aggro. But, more insidiously, stepping out of line also annoys the queen bees of the social network who rule the universe with their "squeee" and their stiflingly imposed and sickly cultivation of hive mind, if anyone questions the loveliness and loveiness of their world, or criticises something they have decided to promote, whether or not it stinks.
Anyway. Mea culpa. Etc. *stuffs mouth with more cake* Squeee!
According to the famous mathematical thought experiment, Schroedinger's cat is neither dead nor alive. So it's a cool concept if you don't like being locked into binaries. Not so good if you don't like being locked into a lethal booby-trapped box. And from the cat's point of view, there is no ambiguity at all.