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.

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