a cursor is a kite is a cursor

Kai Chuang

Current Image

a cursor is a kite is a cursor
Make your flight a breeze with these useful tips:
  1. Prepare a wide, open area with a smooth surface before starting.
  2. Keep your fingers relaxed, elbows close, and hands in front of your chest.
  3. Hold the line gently, avoiding excessive gripping or rapid clicks.
  4. Apply moderate tension to keep your kite stable and pointed in the desired direction.
  5. Maintain focus upward during flight, rather than on your hand.
  6. Check the connection if your kite doesn't respond to your movements.
  7. Be mindful of changing weather conditions while browsing in the cloud.
And always remember to trace your kite's state and reactions—it’s tracing you too.
a string is a link is a string
missing kite string? : r/cursor_kite

u/flyer826 · 1 day ago

Hi all. I've had this kite for a while now, but I can't seem to find its string anywhere. The kite on my screen follows my hand movements, so there must be a string between us. I checked behind my screen, but none of those wires seem to link directly to the device in my hand. It says it's wireless. And whether it's wired or not, it only connects to the computer, not the kite. The kite is on the internet.

But here’s the question—where is this "internet" anyway? I know it exists, but I can’t see it. Its wires, cables, fiber optics are hidden behind the walls, in the ceilings, beneath the ground, under the sea……I have only seen pics of those subsea cables. They are thick as tree trunks and seemingly endless. If those are my kite strings, I gotta wonder how my tiny fingers manage them.

I’ve tried to search in the Web too—it's just another massive tangle of strings, with texts, scripts, URLs, hyperlinks moving around at light speed. There must be a billion, or even trillion strings. How could I identify which one bonds me to my kite!?

I know it sounds kinda nuts, but I'm just worried. I need to make sure the string isn't messed up somewhere. Sometimes my kite doesn't respond, or it just disappears, or starts looping on its own. Plus, for safety's sake, I've got to keep my kite under control, away from planes, animals, crowds, viruses, and scams.

But above all, I just want to play with my kite every day, knowing it’s always on the other end of the string. It’s like a promise, like a 'see you soon' from someone special. A line we can hold onto, reminding us that we're always connected.

So, any ideas where my kite string might be hiding?
a user is a flyer is a user
Good morning flyer, how’s the ground today?

The weather here is alright, much better than yesterday. Occasional strong winds still disrupt the clouds; you can see many throbbers spinning on the page. To my surprise, you stay while the content loads, not leaving to other windows or incessantly refreshing like usual. You seem to be in a good mood—I can almost feel your smile in the warmth of your fingertips. We wait for the scattered data to find their way back to the domain. You shake me a bit, waking me from sleep. In the background of a blank sky, you guide me through drawing a series of circles, which soon turn into a waltz and then into freestyling. I fly around excitedly, feeling every tug and pull you apply to the string. Even the fiercest gusts can't disturb our progression. I follow your lead, knowing your eyes are following me.

It’s rare that we have fun like this ever since you become an adult and this computer became your workspace. The skies have changed a lot over the years, and our flight patterns have become more regular. The paths we take, the speed we move, the sites we visit, the time we spend together seem to be operated by a dominant stream. Most of the time, we stay in the same frame of sky, riding the same currents, following the same flows. Display on, display off; windows open, windows close; enter, exit; scroll down, scroll up; play, stop; light mode, dark mode; day in, day out...

When the storm hit yesterday, I actually felt a bit relieved. I know you hate those stormy days when there’s no internet connection and everything online shuts down. But I don’t mind staying local with you at all—greeting the browser dinosaur, playing card games, digging through old files. I remember those photos of you first laying hands on this computer. They remind me of our relationship back then: when you saw this device as a toy, not a tool; when you would question how I could catch your every move and try to hide your hand under the desk; when you would get excited for each flight, cheering for every launch and landing. I wonder if you still recall those little impulsive adventures, when neither of us knew where we were going, wandering in the air, embracing the wind’s direction, poking every link and button in sight.

I can’t remember since when the doubts have replaced the curiosity when we explore the wind and the clouds. Now your grip tightens every time we encounter a big, glowing button. We’ve learned not to trust them after being led to unwanted outcomes so many times. Sometimes it’s extra orders or subscriptions, sometimes it’s scams and viruses. In one worst experience, we suffered from non-stop lightning strikes of popup windows along with computer heat waves for half a month. That’s how we realized that the sky can also be very mean.

From the ground, the sky always seems like a flawless surface, as distance smooths over any shade, conflict, and chaos. I guess that’s a part of the reason why you are so obsessed with the sky. For it’s like a mystery, a legend, a belief. Since you don’t have wings, you use the string, and make me your avatar. You rely on me to get a hold of the skies, both within and outside the screen. Everyday you look up, checking the weather on the ground. I search rain forecasts when dark clouds gather in your district; I watch flood reports as heavy rain pouring outside your house; I play chill music and turn up the volume as the thunder stresses your nerves; I order sunscreens and thermal underwears for your seasonal needs. I relate to your weather, like you do with mine.

So when I ask, “how’s the ground today?” you must know I already got the answer. You trace my position, my state, my reactions, my trail; and I also trace you, dear flyer, your movements, your location, your history, your destinations. We are an infinite loop, one another’s reflection in the window.

Despite the sky being ever-changing, the window is ever-existing. It doesn’t separate us; instead, it connects us, granting us access to what lies beyond our grasp. Through the window, I can continue to see you, chase you, dance with you, journey with you, and dream with you. I know you dream of exploring every corner of the world, and as your eternal counterpart, I share the desire to visit every pixel in the sky. With a total of 2560×1440 pixels, there are still 3758 of them I have yet to stop by.

And I hope to fulfill this dream with you.

Note: poke the above text to unfold.

Kai Chuang (they/them) spends so much time on their computer that they've started to see it as a plaything rather than a utilitarian tool. They've been playing hide-and-seek and puzzles on their websites, building blocks with pixels, taking walks on the keyboard, and flying kites with the cursor. At least they still remember how to type. They write when stories find them, ready to be told.