Digital Ischemia

18/08/2019

To Mount

I received a USB flash drive through the post. That was a fraught first sentence. I received a flash through my letterbox. An unexpected portable insertable. Trying to avoid proprietary labelling as well as euphemism. Thankfully I handle far fewer floppies these days. Lately I have been too close to the nerds again. Nerds are riddled with smut. And fantasy fiction. You have only to glance at the names of open source file types. Anyway, USB flash drive is the most universal, generic, non-proprietary, inoffensive name for those portable mini memories.

No return address, no post mark, no message, no branding. Immediately perturbed by the threat of unsolicited files carrying viruses, I left it in porch quarantine. After a few days curiosity got the better of me – Fool! – so I tentatively began researching how to virus check a flash drive before accessing any of its files. Surely you do this as a matter of course, using your up-to-date anti-virus software? I hear you cry. Ah, no, recall my first revelation about the open source fantasy netherworld. Things behave differently here.

I suppose open source software isn’t worth hacking because its users are few and usually more deviant than the hackers. She said, rustling a greedy paper bag of fate-candy. Paradoxically, open source users are also more paranoid. Accordingly I have set this post to auto-publish, lest the Fossoway area should be electronically sterilised by rogue agents or one temerarious idiot. This also serves as an inbuilt excuse for substandard writing.

All this time I was of course wondering what might be on the unsolicited infernal device apart from diabolical code: text document? Images? Audio? Video? Cutting edge writer’s software? Legal or not? Was I actually the intended recipient – yes, my name and address are on the box – but had this been put in the wrong box?

Could it actually be something positive? Pleasant surprise from someone I know? But they would know better than to send something so suspicious. Or would they? They might be being amusing. Or clandestine. Perhaps there was to be a clue sent via another route – yet to arrive or already missed. Maybe it’s not storage but a USB travel toothbrush, or something similarly insertable but more entertaining.

Perhaps I have a stalker. Somebody trying to be overly-intimate. Unlikely. Cryptic and creepy don’t usually go together. Really, if it’s something I would want, the sender would have made it more apparent. First rule of resisting marketing. Better to leave it as an enigma. More fun. Perhaps something will turn up that will explain it. And destroy all my hopes and dreams.

Eventually, the opportunity of a failing PC became irresistible. I backed up everything and disconnected all my hard drives. I mean I pulled out all the cables, wrapped them in lead, or cardboard, which was lighter, removed them to the other end of the house, and closed the door. Not taking any chances. Full force neurosis.

There was little of any importance on the PC. Apart from the archaeological history of my snacks over eight years. Not connected to anything, if it got infected or corrupted or liquidated it was getting wiped anyway. Or surrendered to the great acme magnet in the sky.

But there is a problem with old PCs: not always compatible with newer technology. After all, that is how the manufacturers keep you rabidly gobbling at that endless consumer conveyor belt. What an exquisite irony that a new machine could connect but could also be vulnerable to it.

Unable to mount USB flash drive error dialog box listing unintelligible error codes

So often my problem: unable to mount.

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31/08/2018

Mirabelle the Admirable Red Admiral

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , — Teepwriter @ 16:00

(disclaimer: may not be female, admirable or red)

August is for visitations. Nature creeps in at me. One of my veg box salad bags turned out to contain beetroot leaves plus a bonus gold lamé bodystocking or chrysalis.

red admiral butterfly pupa

Eye-catchingly glamorous – apparently a red admiral butterfly in embryo. Chores were immediately sidelined in favour of entomology windowsill. Nothing happened. Advised to keep the effort hydrated, I gave pupa and leaf a daily drip of water. I couldn’t resist a light examination. This produced obvious inner writhings so I desisted. With no idea of pupation timescale or its likelihood of survival after several days’ refrigeration, inevitably I missed the emergence.

red admiral butterfly empty chrysalis

After a tense search of surfaces, curtains, plant pot, I discovered a crumpled, desiccated butterfly perched on my baffy. Repatriated to the windowsill, I plied her with water and sugar-water in bottle caps, and more beetroot leaves for shelter. None were attractive. I pushed a cap of water near her and she stalked off in the other direction until she became entangled in spiderweb by the plant pot. Mostly she was inert for such long periods I kept thinking she was dead until she moved again.

red admiral butterfly standing on beetroot leaf

Why do I involve myself in these unnatural nature observations? After a couple of days’ impasse, in desperation I refreshed the water and plonked a kiwi fruit end nearby. I even poured some water into furrows of a fresh beetroot leaf incase the caps were too high-sided. Instead she nodded into a discoloured puddle beside her discarded chrysalis.

red admiral butterfly standing on beetroot leaf

This crumpled husk dragging about a small plot and refusing conventional nourishment seemed disturbingly familiar. Apparently prompted by my pointless foutering nearby, she pushed her front legs off the leaf across the varnished sill, sliding and retracting in a sorry dance. Concerned for her falling off, I pushed the kiwi chunk across as a barrier. She uncurled her tongue and probed encouragingly. I left her to it. She had a good sook then left her mark. I don’t know if this is a good rating or an emetic complaint.

kiwi fruit piece post-butterfly

With this happening late in the evening, my mind was already birling loosely on its spindle. Was this butterfly paralleling not just my feebleness but also my fussiness for drinking dechlorinated water in a plastic free vessel? For fruit sugar rather than refined? Exhausted by my ineptitude and daft notions, the following day she retreated to a dried leaf hanging behind the plant pot.

red admiral butterfly on dead leaf

The next morning she was definitely dead. I recognised the tell-tale sign of a detached head. Caring for your chrysalis score: zero. Whichever god has me on their observation windowsill, I’m ready for my head-lopping now.

red admiral butterfly dead

Perhaps the crumpled wings and the abdomen twisted like a modelling balloon were signs that she was doomed. Where were the myriad spiders that habitually prowl this habitat? Perhaps I should’ve put her outside for a bird. I’ve seen sparrows going at butterflies like snakes eating eggs, although a little more quickly. Where was the universal recycler? Playing god is a tricky business.

Compost in peace, Mirabelle.

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