- The Blinking Cursor blinks; and, having blinked,
Moves on: unless your Piety or Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Or your drink on the keys shorts out all of it
The curse of the blinking cursor. All those deep thoughts in traffic, gone. I do carry a notebook to write down great ideas, but in traffic? Forget it. Literally. And I dislike the sound of my own voice, so no dictaphone or something. Etc.
So I resort to another story about hypnotism.
Self-hypnosis, this time. I tried it last night, but I think I fell asleep during the relaxation phase. That’s the drawback of drinking three glasses of wine and then going to bed tired. All I remember is counting backwards from a hundred to about 80 or so. And now whenever anyone says “dystopia” I dance the Bump with whomever’s handy.
Without a tape recording, you wouldn’t know the sound of your own voice. Not as others hear it. You’re used to the deformations produced by the physical furniture of your head. If other people say that they like your voice, trust them. What you “don’t like” about your recorded voice is simply the fact that it’s different from what you’re used to.
Just think – nobody knew this until the twentieth century! Or nearly.