What if one of the best things you can do is shut down?
The idea of leaving, so to speak, threatened the journal accumulation and ricocheted off the neural walls for about a month, now. I’d have done this sooner, but the pathways are long and the bullet would seem missing for spells at a time before returning forefront. With knowing everything I wanted to write last night at 2 A.M, all I could do was sit up and stare at the white entry box as the words flashed and never got copied. Now I’m going to try to reconstruct parts of the idea that I remember, because it is important and not getting away this time.
It is goodbye.
There’s no reason why I can’t continue to upload my brain into an online blog. It has recorded dreams that I would have forgotten and captured people in certain lights that my humanity will be unable to always hold them in. I’ve read over the past three years and found bits of behavior that I didn’t even know I exercised. More importantly, a person can start from the beginning and watch me get better and better –one good sign in a dark sky. And of course, what I can’t deny being really neat about it was how I used this device to pay tribute to the pieces of myself that someone else knocked off.
One thing I don’t want to do right now, is broadcast. This process is a cry without echo, uninfluenced by anyone there. It’s too short of blood to be giving away while I try to peer through backwards type and watch the eyeballs, watching the words. Some are blue. Some are red and leaking. And from the sound of the future, they’ll eventually have designs on the whites as well. Some I’ll miss, but it’s just another good excuse to take off unless I want attachments to glass pixels.
This isn’t the activity for me at this time. Thank you to everyone who commented and said that my journal was entertaining. Sorry I don’t have any kind of ending – there’s too much else to do. First thing on the agenda is tonight’s kickboxing class. How can I write up an ending when I’m learning how to inflict pain with my foot? The story is just getting good.
It was a long time on a green microraft with my butt smack down on the chip floating through numbers and wires. After finally reaching a glacier of fact and solid information, I knocked on the iron deposit and it rang a hollow vibration of truth – but not the sound of freedom.