What it's about

Five and a half years ago --1924 days, more precisely -- I started this blog.  In that time and with this post there are 1180 published pieces.   One post for every 1.6 days.  Some of them good.  Some of them not-so-good.  All of them from the heart and as true as I could make them.

It's been hard, lately.  Inspiration is a rare visitor these days, cold-blooded determination his poor substitute.  But if you're going to write, you've got to write every day.  So long as the pulse beats,  the body is not dead.

When people learn that I write a blog, they often ask "What's it about?"  But that's a question I can't really answer.  What's your favorite movie?  What's your favorite book?  Who's your favorite musician?  The question doesn't really make sense.

I can characterize some of the content.  Politics, of course, and social issues.  Books and movies.  Friends and family.  A lot of navel-gazing.  More than I care to admit.  One or two verses that I'm not ashamed of, and a lot more that I am.  And the stuff I like best and that is the most fun to write --the stuff about what it is like to live here, in this time, in this place.

That's what is in it.  That's what's in this blog.  But is that what it's about?  I don't know. 

It doesn't matter anyway.  Shakespeare's wicked and desolate Scottish thane will always say it best:

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death;

Out! Out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow,
A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And is heard no more;

It is a tale, told by an idiot,
Full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.