I’m new to blogging. I’m new to writing where it might actually be read by someone in Poland or New Zealand or Colorado. I find it strange and exhilarating, but above all flattering.
I enjoy reading people who write interesting things and my humility prevents me from thinking anything I write would be remotely considered important or interesting, but it sure is fun.
I’m breaching the fourth wall , looking into the camera and addressing the audience. All beautiful six of you.
Everything I blog is a rough draft. It’s a raw ball of clay rapidly fashioned into a disfigured form that’s thrown into a kiln and given indelible life. Many times a post begins as a mouse and ends up as a rat. Other times the post is a mouse that becomes a man but more often it becomes a corpse pinched in a trap.
Cyberland, Blogburg, the intercomputer, it’s all so seemingly permanent and hardwired, though one bad solar flare or meteor and we’re all using Coke and Toblerone to cook meat. With this being my 101st post, I’m not sure what any of it really means, so I raise my whiskey and give you thanks for hanging out nonetheless.