A forum:  A slate:  The Earth bounded cover to cover, filled up with ink and words and pictures and infallibility, another way to chart out the wanderings of a self-discrediting mind, combinations of syllables projected into a vacuum like grains of sand tossed into the impulses of the ocean, a place to fail with no consequences, no readers, nothing to lose.  America isn't always kind to her artists.  Strong, aggressive, iron businessmen sort of chuckle at the idea of a starving artist then rattle some change in their pockets.  But they don't understand that the artist fails thousands of times.  Repeatedly, endlessly, like evolution on a much less interesting and grand of scales, but the failures are personal, perhaps more profound than a fish to a frog (the diagrams of dusty texts).  

Blogs.  The very unappetizing sound of the word fits the pursuit -- to fail, by and by, more or less, in and of itself, most importantly, first off.  If some lonely eyes come to pass over these words, may they know they read through a vacuum, the emptiness of some black hole galaxies away, consuming without anyone's knowing, sucking.  Three or four posts tops, not much more.  A forum to fail, secretly.  Blue and purple and gold swirl, then POOF, bye bye.

Rachael Maddow:  "I don't WANT to know the 'right' way to do things."  Amen, sis....brother.  Aware she is but removed also.  She admitted to not owning a television.  An artist.  Creating art of herself, without filter upon filter piled up like prescription in an old man's glasses, he worn down by the twists and turns and deceptions of a patterned world.  

Art of herself.  Art of myself.  Disconnected yet interested.  Syllables pouring fourth with no deceit, no aim, no ambition other than to exist somewhere other than the doubtful corridors in a preconditioned brain, a simon of a brain, a jigsaw of a brain, a password of a brain, a rubix cube of a brain.  

I've been brainwashed...

I'm beaten down by the rules of an unjust-insane society.  I don't believe in them yet I live by them, because people created them.  Late (or early depending on your perspective), I watch prison shows of violent men, disturbed and desperate and violent.  Little could they have known that the way to live outside of the law is through words, thoughts, conceptions, not of others but entirely of their own.  And yet, only the greatest ever escape -- to the blind delight and dumb admiration of those they leave behind.