The reason

Among many, for starting over, is that while I have endless reasons to feel blessed over the past year and a half or so - namely Juliana Miles and the new job - there is that corrosive feeling that I've started to get, the danger alert, that life is flying by with no proper recording of the events and though I'm keeping a diary, at least sporadically, perhaps spasmically, something about a blog, namely it's accessibility from work or anywhere, but also it's possibly though not actually public nature, lends a certain vitality and openness and also tendency toward brevity that is all a good thing.

The longer time goes on without writing, "real" writing whatever that might mean, the more terrified I become of being consumed by the ocean of unordered information, impressions, history, memory, nostalgia, endless unmarked fathomless depths of whatnot and who can say? And especially now that I am actively involved in a form of willfully transient writing for a living, putting all of my time and mental energy into producing work whose maximum shelf life is one day and one day only - the spiritually void cousin of a Tibetan sand mandala - I have to forcibly stand back and attempt, however psychologically daunting the attempt, to get my mind straight and keep things in context and remember there once was this thing I'd heard about called the "bigger picture". And that's what this is about.