the more i read that last text post, it makes even less sense than i intended it to.
i’m serious about atrophy. of my encoding of my thoughts as messages to communicate with others. it’s apparent in my writing, for sure, the writing i don’t do anymore. the most writing i do is tweets, time entry for work and text and email. all short messages, no long form anymore. even if i’m completing full sentences, they’re still just building blocks, not brick walls, not sturdy enough to hold up any school of thought.
i do this in cycles, i’ve figured out. so much utilitarian necessity polished to a science and then all at once i’m yearning for this creative outlet; some sort of messy flailing burst of artistic expression to counterbalance the way that i stretch myself so thin
tumblr has come a way since i really sat down to the front end of it; i think i follow all my tumblrs through google reader, and email all my phone pics; i havn’t even been to this page in forever
i’m listening to Poe’s Haunted, an album that i never gave a chance, and i suppose the record industry didn’t either. the wiki reads that it was doomed to fail from the git-go, commercially anyway. ten years later and i’m listening to it now. hrm