Why this is here

Lance Arthur over at glassdog is posting a new entry every day of this month, and then deleting it at day’s end. Who cares? Probably noone… but some of his writing is great stuff, indeed.

I normally hate quoting large tracts of other people’s thoughts, but he recently posted something that made me say, “yeah.”

So I’m gonna quote anyway, and if you don’t like it, too bad.

What’s it like to be you?

Truthfully, no one asks this. And even if they did, I wouldn’t really know how to answer it. Would you? I think if you know what it’s like, you’re either very shallow and can therefore easily define yourself for someone else (which, in some ways, in an envious position to be in) or you’re lying in order to placate them and make them go away. Maybe the whole point of this entire exercise — all the writing, all the designing, all the words and music and numbers, the sharing and hiding, the wishing and telling, the remembering and forgetting and imagining and desiring — maybe it’s all an attempt to answer that question. Why else do it? What else is a great yop into the universe for? You want to let someone know you’re here.

It doesn’t seem to matter who you are or what your situation is, this need to tell comes back and you keep it up and so do I. Others abandon it, finding not satisfaction but rather more of the same that they get out of life. More disappointment, more noise, more ignorance and misunderstanding. I would like to believe in karma, but I don’t. I believe in chaos and happenstance. People die for absolutely no reason all the time. Other people go on living for that same absense of sense. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it, other than that you ascribe to it to try to make heads or tails out of it all. You’re afraid of what mught happen, and if it does, that you’ll be unprepared for it. So now here’s this, reems and reems of empty space to fill up. Spill it all like milk on glass, hoping some of it sticks and someone will remember you in the bigger sense. Or maybe not, maybe there’s no reason at all for any of it. Which, I must say, I find much more comforting in the end.”

Ahem. Go on, now: pop on over for a visit.

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