i was bored, so i went to the blog most familiar to me. after hunting, i finally found a list of random blogs - clicked away, then while waiting for the pages to load, got excited, and finally delved into the world of nobodies to the world around as well as mine. most were unspectacular. until i came to one whose post i already mostly forgot. but i still remember reading each line, my eyes concentrated on every word, and i had an urgency, a need, desire to cry, my eyes brimming with passion. i could only think of what chuck p. had to say about writing. a writer writer is alone, trying to connect to the world, sad, alone, disconnected from the fullness of life.

and then i thought about eb white's introduction to his collection of essays. He wrote, "The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest."

do you see the connection? so many bloggers, wanting to tell the world, "look! look at what i have to say!" such a humbling experience when i see that for the majority there is not even a minority paying attention. most blogging is like watered-down, diluted, stinky, essaying. essayists have the form down to perfection, a style beautiful. most of my blogging becomes emotional rants. but the essence - that essence if exaggerated importance, that keeps us going.

i want to push the boundaries of language and grammar. i need to find a grammar teacher. eb white is a magician with his typewriter. they never reveal their tricks - they just do them over and over until you figure it out.

cannot be afraid of change.