So I found out that I'm supposed to have read all of Gulliver's Travels by tomorrow. That's a joke.

I have been surfing the web more than usual lately, and so I'd like to give you a heads up on the "Clicking" section that I added in the right frame over there -->
It'll be changing pretty frequently. I'm reading interesting things, finding interesting stuff, more than just your funny movies and such. Hopefully they'll keep you entertained, and I'll try to devise some way of archiving them. I dunno how many of you will find it entertaining (chances are it will go ignored by many), but if you're at all interested, it'll change frequently. Just a heads up.

On a similar note, I've been thinking about the internet and how it relates to me (and my writing, I guess). Notions of intimacy and communication and time. I guess it's not unlike me to grapple with the idea of something (maybe you've noticed how frequently I use the word "grapple"), to swim through the philosophy behind something as simple as absence or loss or even what it means to be present as a physical being. It has been only recently that I have been obsessed with these ideas -- bodies, absence, loss, insomnia. You're probably sick of hearing about them, and it's not like I feel like I'm breaking any new ground with them. Maybe it's just like a song that gets stuck in your head, and you've got no choice but to sing it until something else comes along.

This is what spurred it, I guess. But read this first -- it'll give you some context.

Sometimes I wonder what this place will be like when it hits the ten year mark -- if it hits the ten year mark. The internet is such a strange medium to exist in. How strange to have an accessible record of your existence, clickable, linkable, pasteable. And to have pieces of myself scattered here, through emails, poems, but also phone conversations, letters, my journal, what all the differences are between those things, their different levels of intimacy or concept of some greater truth. It's a big mess of thoughts, really.

And I'm afraid I must end inconclusively. How easily I get distracted.