Funny thing, I guess you would call it funny- I do, which is really all that matters here, I suppose- this wasn't originally intended to be a personal forum. This wasn't supposed to be me just spouting off endlessly about whatever came to mind. This wasn't supposed to be a substitute for therapy. This wasn't supposed to be a diary. This wasn't supposed to be much besides a writing experiment.
And now here I am. Years later. Having written more than I have ever written in my life. And probably exposed more than I would ever really do in person. It's very odd. Feels so strange- this intimacy and distance.
It's a game, really. A partial strip tease. Very few know me for real. And to those who don't, I play this cheeky game of letting you partially in. Then closing the door. For real. Because I am afeared of what might happen if this slipped into my reality. Don't go there. Instant delete button. Because it just can't happen that way.
But there I go again- spinning into some other place, when the intent was something different. I suppose I should embrace that creative dimension- if it can be called thus. Mainly because it beats the hell out of staring fixedly at the screen willing the unwilling words to come out come out where ever they are.
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2 comments:
"nobody knows anybody..."
--Tom, "Miller's Crossing"
Indeed. The Bros Coen are amazing. I lurve them. Totally.
Favorite? Cross between Blood Simple and Hudsucker. Oh- and Barton. Oh and make it a 4 way horse race with Lebowski.
There's a bar here that has a Lebowski festival. Where patrons dress as characters and act out the parts. Pure genius.
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