Blogspot. That was all Norman had on his mind. To share with the world your babble of words, in a loosely constructed manor. To blog, to be blogged, to have blogged, to the blogiest to the max. There was nothing wrong with blogging in particular, but Norman did have a shred of dignity left. What if everything was laid bare? How could he live with himself? Blogging was meant to be a mere pastime, rather than something that consumed him. Norman chucked. Consumed him? What did he think a blog was? It's just a little jot of ink on the computer screen. Just a little pebble on the road. No one would ever even see it. Unless they perhaps looked one day. Blog were meant to be seen, but only by those in the know. In the fold. In the weather. Inside the Armageddon. There is nothing where there is nothing and there is something where there are pieces. Pieces of memories, of blogs. Spots.
Title 2
In which sense is it periodical? In the sense that there is a period? Or the sense that there is an ical? Nonsense. Ical isn't a word. Thank you red squiggly underline for telling me. Sensically, some cents are needed. Money is a construct, but can you live without it?? Social contracted damned, I care about you. But not enough to go out of my way to feed you. You need to feed yourself. Find the answers yourself. Ask the questions yourself. Agency is key. If you have everything spoon-fed to you in life what will you do when you go off the beaten tracks? You'll not know what to do. Be prepared. Anything can happen. Dream. Ice cream. I scream. Cats are meant to be petted and loved and cuddled and hugged. "Eat your vegetables," they say. But what do 'they' know? I've always had an unbalanced diet and I'm still kicking. Tears are a good way to let off stress, but only if you're alone in your bed at night.
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