Welcome to my web, my capturing device, my frayed asterisk at the corner. Not complete but drawing your attention, marking out a space. It is violent, strategic, and imprisoning. It is beautiful, vulnerable, and strong.
I connect you to the words that connect you to yourself.
But do I have to write a blog?
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But do I have to write a blog? *
Some words feature their ugly with a sound and mouth feel that lingers after the word is gone (gusset, fetid, moist). Like acid colors and triangle patterns in nature, they warn you to stay away.
Others engage the sickly boniness of their aristocratic inbreeding (pulchritude, bucolic, effulgence) to simply scare you off & save them from doing work.
And some are linguistic carrion flowers that lure you in with their liquid sibilance before springing their deadly denotations (acquiesce, hirsute, silverfish).
But a word like blog doesn’t threaten or disdain or tease. It doesn’t do anything but sit, like a tepid lump of beige (not even griege)—unformed, flabby, & tired.
Blog is the sole-surviving syllable of a shantytown portmanteau: weblog. Blog has survivor’s guilt. It’s a purposely ugly word, blog.
There has to be something better.
So today, and probably tomorrow, I will explore other ways to denote and connote this weblog of musings, missives, and meanderings. This confluence of ephemera, this commonplace, this capturing device.
Eudaemonia
The business of me sees value in what others overlook and knows that nothing—no, nothing—happens as expected and everything—yes, everything—hatches exactly as it should.
Hoarding language
While I am not, as far as I know, a computer program, I also have a limited audience. But in the business of me, I am my own audience and need to hear myself speak the words I possess.
On the last day of May, under a blue moon, I get another chance to plant the seed or take the step or say the words that move me to where I am supposed to be. And this chance is not going to come around again for a while.