set in motion

So my faceless readers, with your backs hunched over your shoulders as you peer into this white nexus known as the Internet, you maybe have wondered where have I wandered off to? Have I been raptured (obviously not), have I grown a whispy blonde beard and headed off into the woods (no good forests left anymore), or have I just grown weary of the world (maybe)?


I have been busy, and the book is still not yet done, Lord knows when it will be. I have a literary agent on hold as we speak, waiting for me to submit a book proposal that I don't know how to write. I have never been good with honestly pumping myself up to other people; I feel as though the things I say are not really true, but just residual self images of me that I think exist. And sometimes when I try to write something, I watch the cursor blink on and off on its own metered time, and I get lost in the times when it is gone, comes back.

Maybe that's how I am, blinking on and off, part of me here, part of me gone, over and over again. And when I fade back in, blinking only for a moment, my head is clear, and my heart is fresh, and I start watching people live again, and notice my own life, my own being, how bushes feel when you pass by them, how the wind blows into the trees, how the sun only appears to set, but it's just the world spinning around.

And that is a sobering thought. That sometimes what I think and believe and rely on in this world is merely a fabrication caused by my perspective. I was on my porch today and watched a couple sweeping their deck across the way, and they held hands and drank some red drink out of a clear plastic gas station cup. Unbeknownst to them, never will they know me, or care to. They, like most of the world, will live their lives without me, never hearing my voice, or watching my quirks when I talk. And they are fine with that, and in some way I guess I have to be, too.

This is me, blinking on. Soon, I'll disappear.