13.6.13

It is much easier to share in the vast anonymity of the internet than the tiny, cramped sensory space between two physical human beings. In real life, I can't breathe.

I read blogs about blogging and running a business like I do those things, which I do not. Not that way, at least, although I guess I consider the whole process of getting money for food and shelter to be business at its most essential. It's hard to consider this blog to be "blogging," at least in that I don't feel like it matches up in any clear way with what people who call themselves bloggers do. I don't consider myself to be blogging about anything. I am interested in how it feels to say particular things in particular ways, and what if any external effect it will have, but I don't feel like I'm using the medium for anything besides an attempt to feel less alone. I like that I can appear here as only the parts of myself I want to show, the parts I can isolate (and thereby control?) And what about any of that is different from what any blog is for? A process of ever more fragmented revelation, a series of points that approximate a curve, the real equation for which being so long, complex, and un-useful that we don't even have the math for it yet.

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