We went to Minnie’s and listened to Nirvana and Procol Harum, and at three Mitchell and Nick and I walked to the park. It closes at dusk, but there’s no gate. The moon was full but we saw that there was almost no halo on it, so the sky wasn't orange but it was still light all night.

I lay on my back on the gravel near Mitchell. The sky was green and yellow around the edges (it was near dawn), and midnight blue in an egg-shaped patch at the zenith. I saw two satellites, and wondered what the undisturbed tribes think of them. The sky seemed like a dessert sky, and I fancied myself lying on sand, flat in all directions, listening to the silence until something warm nudged my hand.

What do we put between ourselves and what we say we’re talking about? Is there any kind of thing except the kind that gets in the way? In lambda calculus, even numbers are verbs; nothing has an inside. You think you’ve seen through all the symbols and got to the heart of it and you realize that thinking and seeing and symbols and hearts are thoughts and perceptions and symbols. So then do you study the trivial? I don’t know. I’ve been feeling an urge to break through it all, to get enlightenment, and yet I feel that there is no through and that wanting enlightenment is like fighting for peace. I suppose I’ve often enough fought for peace.

Howard Rheingold tells us that on-line community is community, and Cliff Stoll warns us that computers are not the only window to the world. My parents moved to a place where their interactions were physical and mental and emotional and immediate, and I wonder what I want of that.