Sometimes I feel bad for the souls who've subscribed to the RSS feed of this site. When I started this blog, I had no clue what I was doing -- and honestly, I still don't. The monkey inside my head tells me that some people subscribed because they found the tech stuff I posted helpful. Maybe a precious few are actually into the randomness I push out through the digital birth canal of this blog. See, that's how I actually am -- I just slip into a slightly more structured mode when I want to share something I've learned. The rest of the time, maybe 90% of the time -- I'm just that weird, misfit nerd you see before you. I gravitate toward the most obscure, uneven, deeply personal bloggers on internet. The polished ones I still consume, and my inner voice goes "nice." And I really respect the people who put a subscribe input field on their blog. The brave ones. I talk like this because I come from a professional background where I'm used to shove content down users' throats through transactional and marketing emails. So that's why -- no newsletters from me. Thank you to the folks who've reached out via email at times. I hope I didn't disappoint you with my responses. Bye for now -- it's time to feed the monkey.
The monkey, it was always there. Chained to the ribs, a frantic thing. Gnawing. Scraping. The dark thoughts, the hollow hum of a life unspent. He carried it, a constant weight, through the days that bled into nights. No quarter. No peace. Just the endless scramble within. Then the ink. The charcoal dust. The sound of his own voice, finally given shape. A line here, a shadow there. The struggle, yes, but also the reaching. Each word a thread, each brushstroke a binding. Not to cage the beast, no. The monkey remained. But it sang now. A terrible, beautiful song. And in the singing, a breath. A space. The world, for a moment, held still. He was, if only on the page, unchained.