If this was in the late 80's I could quick start this piece with the line "I am a pen and am writing fast." But the line is now passé. So much techno changes has dawned upon us I could barely keep track of everything, For sure I will slowly keep on pounding the keyboards of my HP notebook in the hope of wrapping one for today.
So what's up.
Perhaps I can scrape notes about anything I can spare a few words with and hurdle a good helping of the opus into the wild uncharted constantly unfolding mega universe of webspace where black holes, white dwarfs and huge unquantified volume of undiscovered dark matter coexist with other stars- newborn, giant or red. But will also check on the sunspots and sunstorms that periodically bombard the innermost recesses of my mind and yours without forgetting the pull of unseen gravity of either Milky Way or Andromeda constantly, perhaps, tugging each other into a pantomime of marriage that began billions of years already.
Or launch a probe into the warped warbled space littered with junks- of sounds, bytes, jpegs, mpegs, etc., that couldn’t fit a waste management truck however it tries to return for there are a galaxy of us who continuously clutter and emit and inject pollution more than meet the eyes ushering an era of hurtful, heartfelt, global web warming disproportion. Consider the amount of garbage that could be extracted out of one’s brain so it would allow us to float into a state of warm lightheadedness afterwards!
Or simply aim a behemoth array of scope to the same spot where many have focused their conscious or subliminal brain and wade through the greed and hate that abound, good hearts that warm souls, grief that trigger tears, triumphs and simple joys that exude elation for spring and summer seasons.
Or just hide in my self-spun cocoon and wobble into the inebriated convulsive emptiness of holy incarceration of the physical being in this world of matter.
Now I’ll put to bed this baby, born at the end of the day, with the hope he would see the first fresh glow of summer weblight tomorrow. Let him dream good and great for a while, please, hush, pssssst, no more tiny sound for the moment ‘til he finds the first deep slumber of his gentle beginnings.
Somewhere near Tehran, a militant blogger and his team keeps watchful eye on the current disparaging events enveloping their beloved land pounding his keyboard translating into words the graphic insane terrifying events unfolding by the minute. Could be that many more are doing the same. Some place in the world, bloggers receive the updated feed emanating from Iran bridging the barrier of distance, time and language.
