two mirrors create a tunnel

at first this was my thought: i have not done this writing here for a while, and that is ok. ok because perhaps i am one of those people who feels the need to write when things are going arye, when sad, or angry. things have been going pretty well, so no need to clicky clack on the puter box.
but now my thought is this: sitting here, surrounded by grey and filter air and complete inorganicness, my cells are giving up. and i'm losing interest. in general.
but, really, only when i'm here. so, it's not like a total tragedy. it's just, here i am, at the computer that makes this strange venue possible, and synapse snaps are the last thing this poor bag o' water wants to do. color me uninspired. color me anything 'cause the grey is just too fitting.

but what i really like about this venue is that this is the plight of a frightening large pie slice of the blogger populis.

Give me your bored, your underpaid,
Your cubicalled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched bureaucracy of your teeming conferences.
Send these, the potentials, ever-cynical, to me:
I lift my monitor-glow beside the golden door.

beepbeep. a little heart-monitor pulse out to the single-dimensional world of ones and zeros. zeros and heroes. a little brilliance here, a little drivel there. take me, i'm everyone's.

what do you talk about when you've nothing to say? talk about talking about it, and what it'd be like to say it.