They are, for better or worse, our only means of making transmissions, however indistinct, out of our various solitudes; they are basically all we’ve got. Except that they are not all we’ve got, not really. This is something I didn’t know six months ago, but which I know now, because the profoundest, truest communication I’ve ever experienced has been with my son, who can’t yet speak, and who can’t yet understand anything I say to him in words.
Blogging is the new poetry. I find it wonderful and amazing in many ways.
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