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jenny enny dots
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dear blathery journal:
i had intended that yesterday would be my last journal entry. that i would be taking a permanent vacation from this place called blather. i believed life would serve me better if i rid myself of everything blather. that blather was a harmful addictive plague. and a force in my life set out to distroy me. but blather kept calling my name. it drew me like a magnet into it's depth. maybe it's the blatrix that seems to have a purpose for me. cold lonely green words. it wanted me. it wouldn't let me go. blather was a labyrynth and i was lost in it's maze.
but blather is more than meaningless entertainment that television and talk radio forces upon me. it is my passion, because i always was a writer. it was poetry once. writing poetry often made me sad and alone. poetry was something i judged in black or white. blather is poetry in every color of the rainbow. and written in the shades of indigo and peacock blue. blather is abstract and real. it's being alone and with others simultaneously. it is experiencing the vision of the internet that i had decades before there was the world wide web. it is all the passions in my life: my words, my music, and sensual aspects of romance, love and sexuality.
this is my focused blather. not just scatted bits and pieces. just one huge chunk of blatherspace. it is the journal that i would want read again. the one that i would hope would be read after my death. kind of ironic that i would consider this a diary considering that that normally it's contents would be kept in secrecy. no this is not that kind of journal. it is more of an autobiography of an average joe. i'm not writing because i think i'm so fasinating that others should read this. i'm writing because it is necessary for my own intellectual survival.
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040209
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