Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

And so we come here to the place of a thousand voices. I thought this was a necropolis, but every inch of it feels and sounds alive. There is something more sinister at work here besides the miserly claw of time. We know what fought your will to life. We know that sometimes, there are dualistic forces at work. When I first saw you, you were in the same room as we were. You led along the first lines of our thinking in this certain way. There were tiny lines, tendrils, connecting us. Arteries and nerves of this thing we call friendship. How do I know? How did we know? No one thought of the thousand stars because they were busy staring at the black curtain. Now you're a series of polaroids. Your face becomes etched ever more weakly, like a repetitious cliche. But who needs the world of old houses? Musty investments; this crumbling material we call life. I find it silly when I think about it, too. Now I am the old lady, writing about my irrelevancy, and you've had the last la...

How does it feel now? One foot in front of the other, walking on the path. I listen to and weigh all the doubts. I worry about my capacity to do what most people seem to do decently and naturally. People have not been granted much in the way of things sometimes. I don't really think there is just a way that things are inherently. I suppose that it's all perspective, all judgment, all subjective. I know that I am no more superior than the guy with the three beemers in his driveway or the bum on the street corner. We all do different things in this world, I suppose. My thoughts wander, my focus wanders. I come back to the path again. I evaluate and try to see if I have made the best decision. I am rarely assured of this. But I guess we do the best with the information we have at the time. I am keeping score. I make no lie of it. I know I am not in the place to judge, but we still must evaluate as best we can with the information we have.