Ink Stains

Thoughts...

Not quite random

Yet not altogether coherent

Perhaps fuzzy shadows of greater truths

Amorphous, entangled, muddled, incomplete

But alive

Flutter about, seeking expression

And in a struggle to articulate -

Attempt to contort into the contours of language

And Create -
Ink stains on a page...

Greetings, all! As some of you might know, I have been thinking about starting a blog for a long time now - in fact it was one of the top things in my to-do list. However, my legendary listlessness makes the whole list a very contradiction in terms. The gods, you see, have been most malevolently generous in endowing me with a limitless capacity for persistent lack of initiative.

My laziness forbids me from spending too much effort making tiresome decisions. And there are so many tiresome decisions to make here. What should it be called? What should be the first entry? What is worthy of being shared? How much work does a piece require to make it good enough.. or even just readable? This was all just too much.

But I finally hit upon a solution to these problems. The solution is, quite characteristically: an excuse :) In place of eloquent (escripent?) writing, there will be pages peppered with metaphorical ink-stains, messy scribbles and scratches... ostensibly containing within them, little ink-lings of more meaningful and beautiful things. The poem above is the prime* example - it recursively reflects on itself, as much as it profiles everything to follow.

I'm hoping, though, that these discursive scribbles will provide for some diversion. And that some of these ink stains will leave... somewhat interesting impressions...