The blog: written, like just about everything else these days, for the crowd. For the mob-mind. (See Cynthia Ozick, who says this best.)
If I were to write honestly, this would be nothing but a love letter. It would be addressed to a tiny audience: those I've loved, those I continue to love.
At its best, at its most intense, I've imagined it that way. As a kiss to the lost souls I required, require, and in some cases miss—so terribly. Including, I suppose, my own.
Listen to Ms. Ozick. Get thee to the novel.
This, if it's to exist, must now be something else.
This, if it's to exist, must now be something else.
well as they say, nothing lasts forever. It's kind of sucky to grow up and finally learn that lesson.
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