I could be getting ahead of myself here...

I could be getting ahead of myself here, but there is a certain sort of comfort in knowing that my readership is so... sparse. Gone are the days when I pointed my blog at all the traffic-getting places, and now it's just mostly me in here, shouting (or mumbling) into the digital void, with the occasional attention of a few people I know. On the one hand, it frees up my writerly urge-to-purge, and on the other, it provides an ongoing reminder of my existential insignificance. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing but a line of squiggly shapes on a virtual page that disappears when no-one is looking at it. And, no-one is looking at it for the vast, vast majority of the time. I do not flatter myself that there will ever be any permanence attached to any of my work, least of all this. (My work, apparently, does not warrant payment and as such I have not been paid for well over two years, and this too is a fact that reinforces my personal claim to inconsequentiality in all aspects of life, especially those in which the fruits of my labours find their measure). My digital product has faded, just as I, too, have faded from the field of vision of those who might, in fairer times, have granted me the benefit of their attention. No matter. I may be tormented by the interminable injustice of it, but I won't be extinguished by it. It is apt, then, that I continue to be represented, fleetingly, by these fragmentary dots of light and un-light, in a moment of connection that will end as soon as you click away from the page, and yet persists in a dark, forgotten un-space, until next it is seen.