so... i'm a bad web writer. i admit it. i don't have the flow. the consistency. there was a time in my life, not too long ago, that every little thing that happened was immediately filtered into cyber-space. the reach, scope, readership, interactivity excited me. i had cyber-friends, cyber-chats, cyber-love affairs, cyber-plots and counter plots. it was exciting. and what happened? the well ran dry. it stopped working. the "reality" (as opposed to the virtual-reality) of it all hit me. whilst my mind and fingertips were engaging in all sorts of relations, my body... this shell, this vessel of fleshy meaty goodness that "I" lives in was just sitting around getting headaches and backaches, staring into the glowing void. it depressed me. my inner hippie started its lonesome revolt, attempting to rouse the support of my legs and arm, lungs and eyes, demanding a return to some sort of "nature"... demanding fresh air, exercise, liberation.

it's a slow process, recovery. i get out sometimes. it's still necessary to put in some time with the beast. to make some money, pay some bills, answer some emails, check some links, spread some news.

i wonder if my back and shoulder and head and legs didn't hurt so bad.... would I stay in more or go out more?

i got love for the beast. no doubt. welcome to high tech. reach per millions. the world wide web.