Bleb Wog

I write this thing every night. Most people refer to it as a Blog. I don’t like to call it that. I never have, for some odd reason.

I don’t have anything against Blogs. They are all over the place.

For those of you who want the formalities out of the way, the WORD “Blog”   is a truncation of the expression “Weblog”. Not like a Yule Log. Or the Captain’s Log on Star Trek. No.

A Web Log. It is defined as a discussion or informational website published on the World Wide Web consisting of discrete, often informal diary-style text entries (“posts”). Posts are typically displayed in reverse chronological order, so that the most recent post appears first, at the top of the web page. Until 2009, blogs were usually the work of a single individual.


I do not think my discussions, which are largely with myself, are very discreet at all. Nor are they diary-style. Well. I guess I would not know “diary style” as I never kept one.

One of my sisters is a writer. And a Buddhist. See how freaking indiscreet I am here, all the time? Anyway, her name is Sue. (More abandonment of discretion on my part.) Anyway again, she has been working on her spiritual path for as long as I can remember. Decades ago, she suggested that I try to keep a daily journal. That I should write about what I am thinking and feeling. Writing it down, helps the processing of the emotions, the cognizance, the rumination… she said.

I tried it. For maybe a day. I just couldn’t press on. So I’ve never really journaled, or had a diary, or any of that. I surely do not consider this, THAT.

No. This is more like a slow-bleeding rupture. Like something that splits open, and it continues to eek-out all over the place. And you all, come to watch. Sort of like slowing down for a car wreck. I can’t fault you for this. In fact, I love you for it. Somehow, it makes me feel like I have accomplices in the world.

And Accomplices are good. Henchmen. Conspirators. Rogue Companions.

Like… you might drive…. if I wanted to hold up a grocery store some night, and tell them…”OK. Give me all your Cabbage Heads!…. …. While you are at it, throw in the Cauliflower too.” That one of you would drive the Getaway-Horse-and-Buggy. A buggy would definitely be better than a car. It would be more difficult to ID us through those tiny little round windows in buggies. And we could take Trigger through all sorts of terrain during the getaway. At the end of the spree, back at home, I would give him apples and carrots, which I picked up as I was going out the door of the market. During the robbery. If we were to do such a thing….

See? On any given day, this hardly qualifies as a Blog.

More like a Blob.
Yes. I write a Daily Blob.



“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own


“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
― Anaïs Nin


“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.”
― Frank Herbert