A fish tossed
Only a very few of the people who read my blogs post comments about the things I write. In fact, I rarely ever come in any contact with those who read my blogs.
What I see is that there are visits, some long, some short, and some just passing through, my blog trawled up in a net of searches, like in a net of more tasty and valuable sea treasures of fish and shellfish whilst if my kind of fish survives or not, it is still tossed back into the sea.
Then the fish that I am lives to write another blog and be netted again, only to be tossed back to whence I came, swimming listlessly in the dark polluted waters of the seas where oceans or rivers beckon for another adventure of being caught and being tossed again.
My blog is my mind
The blog is however the dissection of the mind, an autopsy of thoughts of the living, at least for now. Biopsies taken from different parts of the body because the doctor thinks there is something they need to be sure of.
Perspectives and many they are on life as one, life amongst many and life in others, the stories told in ways that might not be as vivid as I think they are.
Each word weighed as if reading a recipe for the perfect cuisine, yet when finished, there is no guarantee that the taste will entice or lead to convulsive emesis. Each sentence weaving between the lucid and the obscure that the paragraphs might well be meaningfully meaningless whilst hopefully meaning something.
I’m laid bare here
My blogs are my mind, my madness and my peace flowing out of my fingers in words and words about pictures of things seen and thought of, the complexities and the simplicities of life in constructs that baffle and enlighten, emotions laid bare like a man without a poker face taken to the cleaners at the casino. For still, I am just a novice.
Nothing is lost that I have not been prepared to lose, if you want to see the changes of light in a soul from darkness to light oscillating between phases without any duration of how long any gradual transition will last, keep reading and the more you read, the more you might just realise, it could have been a waste of your time.
Thank you for coming by and if you come again, I am honoured in your pity of me.