![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jan. 27th, 2012
Twitter's Micro-Censorship Widget
Jan. 27th, 2012 07:06 amSo much for the free-wheeling, libertarian reputation of Twitter. The company announced Thursday that it could start censoring certain content in certain countries, a sort of micro-censorship widget that would pop up up in a grey box on the Twitter feed.
“Tweet withheld,” it would read “This tweet from @username has been withheld in: Country.”
-- ONTD/LJ
The Internets are achanging. You can feel the trend. One supposes it had to happen sometime, but what a glorious, richly colored world of freedom it was during the Internet's first years. I am so glad I got in on it while it lasted, and maybe we have some years left before the Internet is toned down to the bland level of network television.
“Tweet withheld,” it would read “This tweet from @username has been withheld in: Country.”
-- ONTD/LJ
The Internets are achanging. You can feel the trend. One supposes it had to happen sometime, but what a glorious, richly colored world of freedom it was during the Internet's first years. I am so glad I got in on it while it lasted, and maybe we have some years left before the Internet is toned down to the bland level of network television.
And now our last installment of Sylvia's date with Emile. I threw in the paragraph breaks for better readability.
_ _ _
On the way to Warrie's at midnight, Emile kissed me in the car, his mouth wet and gentle on mine. At Warrie's, more gingerale, more beer, and dancing with the dim light from the porch, Emile's body warm and firm against mine, rocking back and forth to the soft, erotic music. (Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse. All the dancing classes when we are too young to understand, and then this.) "You know," Emile looked at me, "we ought to sit down." I shook my head. "No?" he said. "How about some water, then. Feel all right?" (Feel all right. Oh, yes. Yes, thank you.)
He steered me out to the kitchen, cool, smelling of linoleum, with the sound of the rain falling outside. I sat and sipped the water he brought me, while he stood looking down, his features strange in the half-light. I put the glass down. "That was quick," he said. "Should I have taken longer?" I stood up and his face moved in, his arms about me. After a while I pushed him away. "The rain's rather nice. It makes you feel good inside, elemental, just to listen." I was backed against the sink; Emile was close, warm, his eyes glittering, his mouth sensuous and lovely.
( Read more... )
_ _ _
On the way to Warrie's at midnight, Emile kissed me in the car, his mouth wet and gentle on mine. At Warrie's, more gingerale, more beer, and dancing with the dim light from the porch, Emile's body warm and firm against mine, rocking back and forth to the soft, erotic music. (Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse. All the dancing classes when we are too young to understand, and then this.) "You know," Emile looked at me, "we ought to sit down." I shook my head. "No?" he said. "How about some water, then. Feel all right?" (Feel all right. Oh, yes. Yes, thank you.)
He steered me out to the kitchen, cool, smelling of linoleum, with the sound of the rain falling outside. I sat and sipped the water he brought me, while he stood looking down, his features strange in the half-light. I put the glass down. "That was quick," he said. "Should I have taken longer?" I stood up and his face moved in, his arms about me. After a while I pushed him away. "The rain's rather nice. It makes you feel good inside, elemental, just to listen." I was backed against the sink; Emile was close, warm, his eyes glittering, his mouth sensuous and lovely.
( Read more... )