In fact, I hope no one will discover this until I've crafted some genuine attempt at truth, goodness, and beauty (even though we're 'post' all that). This entry already nauseates me. I feel like an R. A. Lafferty character. I usually do. That's only one reason why he's my (maybe) favourite author. It feels like the more prominent reason he's my fave is the joyous glory of his worlds. Yeah, that's it - mediocre (but almost genius) characters in glorious worlds accidentally stumbling into transcendence (I'll work on that last word). That's an impromptu stab at why Lafferty is the best.
So I suppose this has already begun to be something of a dialogue with myself. Is that what a 'diary' or 'journal' is? Is this a journal? A web journal? (I often detest fragment 'sentences' like the previous one, but occasionally they strike me as appropriate - is this instance appropriate?) A private web journal? I wonder how long you can remain private and secret in this public domain? Do they force people onto my 'blog' somehow, unwittingly, unwillingly?
But I hope this is not a 'weblog', a 'blog'. (I can only speak of it in 'inverted commas' because I inexplicably cringe when I use the words - I know, this whole thing is elitist - that insight will no doubt only be borne out time and again.) That is, I hope this is not more useless cybyerwaste floating in what is to my non-technical, non-computer savvy mind, an unfathomable sub-space-time ether.
This is bound to be [cybers***e is a desirable word here, but I don't generally 'swear' unless as a joke, especially not before an indiscriminate public - so I shan't use it!] webcrap because there's no automatic spell check! I hate 'blogs' [I could stop the sentence there with some truth and justice] that contain more than a fierce minimum of grammatical errors and type-os!
I repeat, this is not a weblog. Or a blog. (Or a place where you can expect intermittent fragments instead of proper sentences.)
This was a practice post and will probably be deleted.