Originally I created a place to come and drop my whimsical ideas and insignificant musings. Due to timing and circumstance it slowly (actually, come to think of it, it wasn't slow at all. It was almost immediate) spiraled into a pit of misery, self-loathing and wanton, thrashing anger at the world.
Years later that was tied to this.
And last year there was this.
In both of those public/private little worlds there was a specific audience of one. Those audiences of one have now gone... or rather I have moved on, unable to get reflected back to me what I needed from them... so I stopped speaking.
But I still feel the need from time to time to make note of things, record what is happening, for fear that if I don't it will be as it has always been. That the lack of a witness (other than myself) will mean the events never took place at all.
I always come back to a lyric I wrote at the height of my artistic pursuits, at the depth of my despair: "I should have written it down. All these things were only in my head".
And when I go, so too will they.
Unless they are left behind for someone to validate by laying witness... even if it is second hand.
