intuitive ink

Intuitive Ink is my newest foray into the continually-edited compilation. There have been many . . . many pages, snippets, blogs, journals, notes, posts, streams, tweets, comments and even full-fledged websites dedicated to my pursuit of this craft. Over the years I've kept pretty strict separation controls on this writing, keeping certain things here, and other things there, and some things entirely to myself, as the sheer act of writing is theraputic. And for the first time ever, as I have had some clear-headed time to reflect on the journey, it doesn't need to hide or be hidden. So it's all coming together here. Although I could definitely use one, I don't have an editor. All I have on my side it time: time to let the words rest. Time to look away and let the kinetic energy of my busy mind wear itself out on something else. Time to breathe and rest and only then to look again fresh at the words, to gently shape them into life as the incredulous stories unfold.

Still am I trying to figure out what to make of G+. Yet another white box beckoning an unassuming user "stream" something . . . anything linky, shiny, doodlebobbers. Googlebots hungry, this time for social food. Real social food, not the illusion of "social" that anonymity allows. Not the romantic notion of being, say. . . ejroundtheworld , flitting from Paris to NYC to Jamaica whilst licking her silver spoon.  And let's not forget that her silver spoon has grown a significant order of magnitude, courtesy of Airbnb's hefty investment to quell her whining. EJ's talent to create and feed manufactured drama is obviously very keen. Talent like that must be handsomely rewarded. After all, being "violated" by a barely legal 19-year old teenage girl who busted a lock, made off with her laptop, and left some dirty dishes in her loft. . . that is traumatic. Robbery is the most rare kind of crime in San Francisco, and nobody knows what that feels like ...