[This Post was ported from my new site-in-progress: S-is-For-Somewhere.com]
In another ironic twist in my endeavor to visually[-and-verbally!] restructure my – ah … – public thoughts (I suppose), I have only complicated the matter through beginning a new journal in a spare black moleskine collecting dust. I am still learning to manage (and establish a sense of regularity of content) to a new hub (that’d be here – S-is-For-Somewhere.com), my personaltwittering, MySpacing, WordPress, creative writing, the virtual presence of my library’s ‘Youth & Teen Services 2.0′ stuff, facebook – and making it all gel.
This is like an overload of outformation, this sort of dizzying wordy clusterflock geared through self-promotion (even if in the guise of lackluster SMS iReporting – this is a ruse [this is a ruse!])
Subsequently, because anything I write [even “privately”] is meant to be read (I reserve bandwidth from the thought police), an old-fashioned journal – I wonder if “diary” and “diuretic” are etymologically related – is no different, except that the reception is delayed by years. I worried that by the time I come around to the journal I will have exhausted my vocabulary. But I am encouraged vis-a-vis the Orwell Prize’s redistribution of GO’s diaries through daily feeds, because even twentieth century writers – it seems – were prone to blahggery –
Two eggs (135 since 26.10.38.)
In the cleft of the rock on the N. side of one of the hills near hear° are growing a plant like angelica, a fleshy plant with round leaves & quantities of moss. Evidently these can only grow in places where the sun does not reach them at any time.