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Having just checked my site traffics statistics for my new blog, Think Think Again, a revelation is upon me. First, the number of visits is low, since I only promote this on Facebook. This is not unexpected. However, there were only TWO click-throughs in December from Facebook.

Meaning no one gives a fex.

{And yes, that is a real word, useful for highbrow cussing and scrabble.}

Even my own wife won’t read my blog, under the non-superfluous criticism that my verbosity is … ah, heck, there’s no one to impress or turn off … I use big words. My sentence structure is lugubrious, my arguments tedious, and I’m not sure I can care to change that.

One of my plans is to add images to my posts, which psychologically would make them more attractive at least twice as much, resulting in possibly FOUR visitors this months if I play my cards right.

chimpanzee-and-tiger-best-friendsSo here is a picture of a monkey.

It really doesn’t matter that my taxonomy is incorrect enough to drive the more zoologically educated mad with rage — what are the odds any of them are even here? Face it, you, lone reader whoever-you-are, read this far just to see what the picture was all about, didn’t you?

So I continue for its own sake, as you likely click away from this page.

And continue I must: Is attribution necessary, even if protected by a copyright held by a rich, lawyer-laden entity? (If a tree gives a swan song while falling in the woods and no one is there to hear it, do they have to pay royalties?) Is my usual list of analogies unbounded by fear of losing an audience I don’t have? can I truly protest too much?

Will my obsessive compulsion to comment on the primate’s oddly-chosen companion as “unperplexed” or dare I say “looks like a stuffed animal but clearly is not” loose it’s steam? Heck, no, I can mix metaphors and no flags will be thrown as there’s no umpire here.

I can add porn and make rude comments about your maternal genetic source. However, it assumes some certainty of a such a small demographic to have any import, and I have no idea who you are. Except that you are probably not my wife.

And with technology, I can date this whenever I want, past or future, the implications of which are probably astounding to me and only me and I could add many paragraphs about it. Not having a readership, my choice to do so or not is utter freedom without consequence!

Knowing few may ever read this, a secret is given up by the fact I write it:

Does a man with no audience chose sloth over plying their art, or do they aspire further, unfettered by the influence of criticism? Forget not getting paid. Would YOU do what you do in life if no one ever knew about it except yourself? Would you do it more boldly … or just not bother? (If someone IS reading this, I hope this is a useful thought.)

Is it about the hope of someone discovering a fossil of your temporal existence, giving it more than a turning over in their palm? Imagine you being reborn to someone you will never meet, becoming some meaning or encouragement in their own existence by a simple story, memory, song, business, idea, building, statue, article … a monument to you in any form that lives on.

I guess in no small part, I write to hear myself think. Sure, I want to reach out to others, or be forever preserved in some undifferentiable strata in the blogospheric sediments of my time.

But perhaps in the end, it about the choice of expressing my own existence, with or without any of those things. I blog, therefore … well, dear reader, if YOU exist, I leave it to you to finish the statement.