Soam-thing a-boot the general nature of blogging in of itself is a tad indulgent; for all the reasons that indulging is kinda gross. There y'are, writing about your fond fine thoughts o' the day, typing and tattling, beseeching, moaning, praying, prying, or celebratng... buncha' bunch of poo, really. Will they see it? Will they look atcha? Will it get you upheld to the global mirror narcissistic litmus popularity contest? Ehhh. Will you win? Gloss. Glossified and sterile, typeface=limp, all ill and all wandering wonders lost, whiling our times when the frogs are out fucking and so shouldn't we; instead it results into the descending of yet-another-day when we're not busy with a hammer in our hand: physically shaping reality.