Someone asked me this the other day: do you ever try and imagine a place where all these words and virtual places you create exist? I had to say it was not something that occured to me.
But it is odd that you put out these piecemeal parts of your psyche for viewing and people, sometimes, gather round to study them like medical students in training. Where are they standing? Well, it is like you have thrown the blueprint of your mind like a blanket over the world — it is patchy and threadbare, soemtimes scarily so, but it is where you exist for a time. Burroughs might have called it Interzone, or are we in Gibson’s cyberspace? Hard to map the virtual. But you know it’s a portion of you laid out there. So where is it? It is in a server, it is in the minds of whoever reads it, and it is always a part of you. And it is nowhere. It’s all relative. Ha, the final copout.