Primary Postings
Flashing cursor icon, speak to me, tell me what it's all for.
Here I am again, another online self-expression. More of me dispersed into the hyper text transfer protocol. E-mail addresses, .com chat profiles, a myspace, yahoo personal profile, on and on and on, and now ... a live journal.
Here we all are trying to leave our mark on the world, trying to make a difference in our own little way. Bending the will of these 1s and 0s into our own image, forcing them to submit, forming them into our vision for words on the page.
No one wants to lead a life without meaning.
You may say you have it all figured out, that you have your purpose as you grasp at your destiny. But we are all infants, reaching for the hands of angels only to find our fists filled with air.
Do you cry, do you giggle, how do you meet the emptiness?
Is that what this is all for? Is that what all of it is for ... are we just filling the emptiness, building angels to fill up our hearts?
Trump constructs his towers tall enough to scrape some meaning from the sky, bruising the face of our shared consciousness for one man's dream.
I had a dream once too, and when I awoke it evaporated to leave me with fists full of sky.