Gord Is Dead

   Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Here goes. My most recent attempt to leave an electronic footprint. It is funny, sitting at home, streaming NPR, drinking coffee, typing away, creating something that flirts with cognitive catalysis but, just as likely, will amount to a new way of doing nothing. In a sense - not to be confused with innocence - this will be a foology for them what's left behind. But soon to follow. Sorry to bring up our mutual mortality, but we both know that your time is nigh.

I don't mean to sound morose or macabre but the very act of blogging seems to be an admission of sorts. I have often kept journals but have been generally inconsistent. Rolling across the waters of self-expression and online journals, it seems many of us are trying to make a mark, make a point, make a difference, make someone uncomfortable, make a gland sandwich, make contact, find land. Luminous words, screened at our leisure, are sometimes more 'I love you' than flowers but are often less 'fuck off' than a door slamming. Not sure if we can forge a union between feelings and thoughts recorded, then broadcast, and that other actual existence we hope to lead with a small measure of grace. But the ripples do seem to exist and the shores of reality will be lapped by the gentle insistence of this electronic whatnot. Virtual strangers are something like actual ghosts. We can see them, hear them, wish they were more as they do seem friendly often enough. But this morning, I needed to jumpstart my car and where were you? I suspect you are not really there for me.

A little secret I'll share though, is that it seems like the rivers of history are backing up. For so many years gravity has pulled and the great flow run downhill from its source. And this source has always been cloaked by credibility, in the guise of higher sanction or, more often, simply by might. History, it has been said, is written by the victor. The rest of us - non-victors... losers?... - have always been entitled to have our own notions and beliefs but these personally clarified gems of autonomy have, for most of us, have traveled the distance that one might effectively throw a brick. A brick though, which may be concrete, indisputable and capable of crushing a skull, is still a poor defense against the elements. Ah, but a hail of bricks can be a powerful thing and it seems that this new conceit, the blog, has suspended the physics of critical thought. Them there words are floatin'! I'm gonna say me some shit!

Anyway, I suspect that the future, as it is steamrolling towards us, will have to go around the folks who have laid their histories with bricks. So, time will leave the larger monuments standing which would just be too much trouble to deconstruct. So, here I am working on the patio of my legacy. Even if I don't get any further than this, I'll be able to sit and have a drink and watch the dogs play.

Ghost that I am.