This, my world-diary~ that the characters come alive. As times change so do the structures, some improvised others disintegrating. I am the pot-stirrer, pulling on a current that whirls me through the deep. Do the churning winds of change pick up my thoughts and sprinkle cosmic dust in goldentoed footprints? “Contribution” becomes obsolete as I ponder the existential. To Post, or not to post? Would Socrates begrudge my existing if I were not to check-in? I am as a God, my voice omnipresent: its chorus is deafening.
