Four Damn Years

It was four years ago I started this blog, Thanksgiving 2005.

I wrote it to write; expression, not discourse, as I told the brilliant & struggling Grace.

I was hoping it would catch people and draw them into my world, as I suspect all writers hope about all of their writing.  We work hard to create a symbolic model of our experience or our imaginings and then we share it.  Note that is different than authors, who often want to share intellectual work or want to evoke emotions in readers, creating a kind of ride that satisfies readers starting where they are.

After all, the acupuncturist that my sister recommended, the one who demanded I accept his theology before treating me and wrote down virtually nothing of what I said in a long “initial interview,” because my answers were just wrong, well, he had previously been to my old website and was “surprised that the writing was so compelling.”

So I wrote.  I got naked in text, revealing what I could reveal.

And I found that I am acquired taste, and one that few have time, energy or inclination to acquire.

I wasn’t really surprised by that.  People are who they are and they are where they are, and they heal in their own time.  They are themselves, in other words.

I resist making conclusions about what the past four years show, because I fear what they will show.

But there is still four years of exposure here, locked in text.

And that must be something.

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