Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

My laptop, in many ways, is a glorified typewriter connected to a wireless ethernet card. The most commonly used pieces of software that get run on it are an internet browser and a word processor. Like most of my pieces of electronics, it could be argued it is a goth fashion accessory: all matt black and slightly anachronistic. If my desktop had managed to be all black too, it would be like a matching set.

I'm officially metaposting now. I was walking to the bus stop from my parents' place and a memory came to me really strongly. Also an act which could be referred to with the same prefix, it was a memory that stayed with me because it so vividly reminded me of a part of my childhood.

I was going to write about it, and then I stopped, questioning the purpose of my blog. Once I had described it, and others have described it the same way as well, as a way to let those extraneous or currently unconnected parts of my extended network know what's going on in my life. And once, I believed the same.

Now, I'm not so sure. So personal, I would argue I read it more often than anyone else. A record of my thoughts, a tool for further introspection. But none of the readers, even myself, are the primary purpose. Now it feels more like I write just to get it off my chest, to record it somewhere. Like if I leave these thoughts in my head they'll mold, fester, or collect dust. Free along wires of fiber optics, flying around at the speed of light as ones and zeros, the information feels free, loosed from the shackles of my psyche.

Currently Reading: A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.