I find myself confronted with a nice, minimalistic, sleek interface upon which to pour out my various collections of thoughts. How very aesthetically pleasing it is. How very culturally hip. Shame. I'm afraid I'll get it all dirty. Anyone have some metaphorical windex? I don't know what I'm doing, but then again, when do I ever? I suppose this is all very symbolic and metaphorical, on some level, but I have far too short an attention span to care. Maybe this will end up being a place to spill my mind, held together with hopes and dreams and glue and strings as it is. Well that was poetic. Sometimes I try a little too hard. Ok, a lot of the time. Ok, most of the time. Ok—
Well, here goes making order out of hopeless chaos. But isn't that what writing is all about? Aside from the escapist appeal, at least. But we're all running from something, and there's always another secret. We just have to find time to live in between all that.
Now, about that windex—