Welcome...

Welcome, friends, to the inside of my head. This is magic, you see. Here I am writing and there you are reading. We are connected through the intricacies of the mind. Very early on, we are taught to percieve these shapes as letters, which form words, and are therefore able to communicate soundlessly with the beautiful weapon of mass construction known as the English Language--I, among others, like to call it telepathy--it's just more fun that way.

If you are reading this blog after I have passed on, consider it my ghost. Read any post you wish and have a conversation with one of the only material specters of my existence. To you, as you read, I am alive. This is my mind operating with yours...even after I am dead.
This is the dead coming to life .

I don't mean to be morbid or creepy. I'm simply making the point that to have such a thing as language with which to tinker is a gift that is far too often overlooked these days. We have video games to do the thinking for us now, so why on Earth would we want to pick up a book filled with thousands of sentences that we have to take the time to scan with our eyes and register as thoughts? Good Lord, please save us from the boring-old-book-monster. Well, some day, machines are going to stop working...as machines tend to do...and the only thing that will be left to do is to pick up a book and read it--and those who never learned the value of that will suffer. This won't happen in my lifetime or yours, but the thought frightens me regardless. Doesn't it frighten you?

If you are a reader, like me, you know that there are few things more powerful than an amazing book or story. Think back to that one book that affected you so deeply that you had to read it again, and again. What did you feel when you were reading it, and when you read it again did those emotions change?

Wait, friends. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Well, I watched Forrest Gump over and over again because I loved it. I didn't have to read the book to get those emotions from it."
In response I say this. We all love movies. But those people who read "Forrest Gump" before it was a movie were able to envision their own version of the character. They were able to take with them a piece of that man without the preconcieved notion that he looks just like Tom Hanks. Tom did a fantastic job in that movie, don't get me wrong, and so did the rest of the cast...but forever, the character Forrest has Tom Hanks's face thanks to Hollywood. Reading the book can't change that now. It's stuck.

Really, I've gotten off track. I was originally writing this to welcome you into the village that is my brain. There are several places to visit here in my imagination. Endless, actually. As I get there, you will read about them. One day, I might tell you about a dream I had, and the next day you'll read an abstract rambling about clowns, or a piece about music in the fifties. Who knows where my mind will take me? I don't, and that's the best thing about having a mind. Let's embrace it.

So, friends, again....welcome.