For the most my journal is just that... mine. I write in it what I can not, will not, write here. It is my paper back original, father of the digital son. Accompanying me every were, unlimited, unhindered, free to come and go. Unlike its younger offspring my journal is not an exhibitionist. More of a holding tank, a thought pool, a think tank. Reserving ideas, like lake LochLomond reserves water. Held on private, sacred, treaty land. The fluid of thought is released through broad, bandwidth, pipelines connecting it to the city, community, world. All the water can not, should not, will not be shared at once. No matter the prize or payment... costs would be to high, and levels left too low.
But this is not me in the journal, it is some one else. This statement is not mine, but formed a memory, an entry, an inspiration. inspired by more than a keen sense of hearing, who was this man, what where they talking about, was his statement valid, why did I hear it so well.
October 14 2005
"Everybody is addicted to something, they are attached and, in that sense they are attached to this physical world." - anonymous gray haired man in late 40's walking past my car at the marina. 342 pm oct 14 2005. With a taller dark haired gentleman approx the same age, who was carrying a coffee, XL, in a black take out cup
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