Snore.

It has been repeatedly emphasized to me that the key to a successful Blog is constant updating. Though the notion makes sense, it is in equal parts exhausting. I guess I am afraid that if I force myself to write too much, I am going to have to forsake quality for quantity. I don't want to bore you with what I ate for Breakfast (unless, while eating Breakfast, I happen to find a severed finger floating amidst my Fruit Loops) or gush about the latest date I went on (unless the date ended spectacularly - me pressed against a strong, trench-coat-clad chest, muttering deep into the fabric 'Darling, I must be getting home...it is much too late' as people dart past us, silhouettes against shop windows hazy with condensation.) Yes, the small things in life are worth mentioning if described with purpose or rationalized with the help of absurdity. Still, a Blog can easily digress into a self-absorbed entity. Any conversation worth having is never one-sided. The problem with Blogs is that they don't come equipped with social cues. Normal sharing involves an individual on the other side of a table, couch, bench, nodding their head, making reaffirming noises. I know when to pause and let he/she relay their thoughts. I can tell when you understand what I am saying or, (more crucial) know that you are listening.

I don't believe creative people who claim that they make art for themselves. Their mantra is output only needs to involve the maker. Even if they make a point never to display, I doubt there isn't at least a fleeting desire to let someone in. One of the joys of writing is that giddy feeling I get shortly after finishing a story. In that suspended moment, I am not yet sure if anyone besides me will think the piece I wrote is interesting, if anybody will wish to read it. Nevertheless, I don't keep much of what I write tucked away. I am okay with being the fidgety girl with a smile on her face (a smile that could just as easily be a cringe), clutching a stack of papers, vulnerable but ready to take a chance.

It's Alivvveee!!

Sometimes I feel like the Internet is a living, breathing entity. A ragtag group of Techies were the proud parents, the Inventors whose overlapping sparks and experiments brought it to life. In the fashion of all good artificial creatures, there always exists a discrepancy. Successful discovery is sweet. Usually Victor Frankenstein stops by with a bottle of champagne. While everyone is busy with a toast, the thing creeps about in an adjoining room away from earshot, heavy footed and unabashedly curious. Responsibility is realized when confronted with a rebellion. Our mild mannered being has become surly. Accordingly, we attempt to reinstate our authority. Lay down some boundaries, light a few torches.

The Internet is different though. Instead of embodying one fevered brain, it has millions. Its cranium pulses with user-generated additions, content uploaded as fast a our modems allow. How do you control something that is constantly evolving, aided by the food of strangers? Such a problem is only heightened by issues of quality or intent. A mad dash to contain what has already been set free ensues. Subsequent preventative measures include Virus Protection, Spyware and Backup Modems. These practices are not 100 percent. My Inbox is perfect proof. Every so often I receive Spam, despite the blocker on my provider's program. I don't mind the intrusions. In fact, sometimes I think they are quite lovely. When data is squeezed through a filter, many of the connecting threads are lost. What you end up with is a mash of words that, at one point, went together; words that still go together, in a more raw and interesting way.

A sample:

"Went Michael Kors accepted? Dearest loved ones form, Saturday. Well write disaster off just being awkward? August, March, February, December, November. Tahiti, Oprah and Russell Crowe Tom. Holiday born good, secret surgeries sure they're. Locks ageless sex symbol same apply, no. Miss from connection close. Currently studying degree in english, literature national."

A mark of development is the ability to express oneself. An even more advanced degree of communication is that which takes on flair or personality. The Internet is groping, straining out beyond the reach of the clarifying drain I've installed. I can't make out the sentences anymore but perhaps that is intentional. Maybe spam is the Internet's poetry.