September 24, 2003

  • So, I pretty much just ran and work-hustled through the summer.  Strangely the time did flow.  I had to deal regularly with fatigue, injury, pain, stress, and numerous personal disappointments.  Yet I had some fine times with you guys here generally, and in some instances, individually.  Still, my blogging time available crept to an all-time low.  How long do you stare at a mosquito sucking blood out of your arm before you smack it?  It seemed, at times, that that was just about the span of time I had for this.  This.  What is this?


     


    This is THE Event.  or a non-event.  This is my soul.  or a cyber-hole.   This is virtue in space.  or a virtual waste(land).  This is glyphic immortality.  or something merely e-mortally blah-ed.  This is the birth of a blogging odyssey.  or the death march of a blogged-out Peter Pan.  This is a flow of imagination mediated by words.  or a slew of pompous pretensions posing as turds.  This is a totally creative outlet letting me in.  or a bare set of technological presets where, like a mounted butterfly, I become sterilely pinned.  This is a compassionate community where I can get what I give.  or a sibling society where all our syllables merge blithely bland.  This is a vital expression of freedom taken to the max.  or a lugubrious outpouring of ennui contrived as a hack.  This is a mix of experience, a striving for excellence and a quest for exquisite eloquence twirled into a delicious desert.  or this is adulterated dirt—predictably granular but otherwise sensibly inert.  This is our magical new artform celebrated through multimedia trysts.  or a basin of commiseration where our storm-sunk colloquialisms rust. 


     


    This.  What is this?  This is us bursting upon the blogging frontier.

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