Greetings from May 14th, 2020, year of the pandemic
This is the first writing in what I hope will be a regular habit; it all depends on my enthusiasm. I write this as a small man of various interests and little expertise. I have lived a life of thirty five years; if some man of numbers and figures were to add up the cumulative value of all those years, it would not amount to much; I would be "in the red" as the business-minded like to call it.
In spite of my insignificance I can't help but feel a deep itch to express my inner thoughts and ruminations. It's no surprise given the tremendous events occurring right now, in this life time, that I should feel this need for expression, and I suspect it is something common to all those, throughout all time, when confronted with such significant events. These things could just as well be put down in a notebook, put away in a cabinet, where the pages will dry and yellow.Then some time after my decomposed body is finally discovered, after a neighbor complains about the "smell" from apt. 2L, that notebook will wind up in a dozen or so Hefty bags - the dumb weight of a lived life.
Instead, I choose to babble into the 'cybervoid', that place that exists between the real and unreal. I am joining the chorus of a billion desperate voices in search of love, companionship, and validation. At the very least I want it to be known that 'I am here; I was here; I exist.'