In my absence my blog seems to have been slowly ticking over and I’ve had over 5000 visits. I don’t have much need for this any more though so not sure where to go. I crave the anonymity and selective exposure of my earlier blog. The ability to write absolutely anything and not worry about people you know reading it. Writing to strangers. There is something in the desire to publish and put out those intimate thoughts and events to be read by random unknowns, to be followed and supported, yet to be kept hidden. A paper journal holds not the same appeal, the outrage of finding someone you know has peered within the sacred confines of a personal diary does not translate to the internet. It also highlights the reality of what you’re doing when you sit, pen in hand and detail those troublesome thoughts to the page. I am tempted to just hit that delete button for this and my past outlet. Or perhaps reappear somewhere new with no fanfare.
Common joy seems to have lapsed into something sweeter. This has been a fortnight characterised by a heap of new people and the discovery and rapture of a new muse (most fitting to Aoide); the associated back-tumble to the stages of my life that fling themselves into stark contrast with how things have been and how they can be no longer; and a god awful hangover that eventually lapsed into vague sickness.
There is (despite the runny nose and generally foggy head of the last few days) a smile on my face, a whimsy of the body and a desire to create.
On a somewhat related note I recently bought a new fountain pen. Haven’t owned one for many a year but decided writing for me had become a chore, an act of work. I wanted to take back the enjoyment. Currently it’s been sent to Australia to fit a finer nib but once it returns I shall use it. If anyone would like a letter drop me a line and address.
