Wednesday, August 31, 2005


I can't figure out what I'm doing here. This is nothing unusual; in fact it seems to be the constant state of my life, to wander into a space of ambiguity, a state of abstraction, to hopscotch through life with no direction. I keep scrolling backwards, to perfect my words, as if the perfect grooming of my first little blog will reveal the perfect answer.

Am I supposed to find final enlightenment through sharing my words with an invisible audience?

Am I supposed to talk about what I had for breakfast? (Double latte; ham and cheese croissant; half of a perfectly-ripened cantelope.)

Or perhaps I should reveal what it feels like to sleep alone?

It feels like such a desperate plea, to reach out into the internet's abyss. It feels desperate, doesn't it?

Doesn't it?