no one is reading this blog.  there is no one reading this blog.  this is absolutely okay with me.  if there were many people reading this blog, i would probably feel either some anxiety or some compulsion to post or maybe if there were too many, i would have to quit.  this blog is in a lot of ways metaphorical.  it's out there on the internet and yet is unnoticed and goes unnoticed pleasantly, and this mostly is how i am in the world: going unnoticed pleasantly watching.  this blog pleasantly watches.  i don't even read much on the internet anymore.  i don't have a twitter or a facebook or a tumblr - i used to believe these things were like bad or something, but these are just things, and i just don't care for them.  it's a preference.  i have an aversion.  is it possible for me to say here that i'm more drawn to a book than an online literary journal?  i'm more drawn to a soccer ball than an author interview?  if there's a soccer ball visible in the room, i would play with it before reading an author interview.  if there was a meditation cushion in the room, i would sit on it and shut up before i had a need to read anything.  writing is different - there is something compelling me there, i can't help it.  just a word processor and not internet would be fine, but also too easy.  the internet serves to make things available faster.  we can watch our minds going faster and faster, compelled by the web, but i like watching mine stop.  we like watching ourselves spin.  we like to watch ourselves spin, our minds.  to watch something spinning in order to understand its continued spinning is not to know it.  to watch something spinning until it stops is to know that which spins and that which doesn't.  that it's even a possibility, this stopping, that's what the internet never allows us to know.