I’m forever trying to get back to the web, and make it mine again. Back when I first had an online journal, there were less than 800, and now there are millions of them, all over the place. The noise is simply deafening.
TIme was that it actually meant something to put words out on the web, and now it feels much more like a something that any fool can do.
I painted this picture for my wife and wrapped it up for x-mas. It’s nothing special, but she loves it. I say that it is nothing special, but I’m not the sort to actually like my work.
For a while, I was posting on livejournal, and I may still post there. Who knows, this might be the only entry ever posted here. Fact of the matter is that there’s a bunch of pressure on LJ, to not be too sad, too angry, too honest. While one can say anything that one wishes to, it seems that it simply isn’t anonymous enough.
Not that I was spouting something horrid there, but I was rather tired of trying to be politically correct and sensitive to all my readers.
So there will be none of that here. Here I am, scars, smudges, and all. And I don’t even know if I like it.
Thursday, January 8, 2009