I intend to do very little writing in here. That’s how you know I’m busy actually writing.
And yet, an online place of one’s own is so important, especially in this nano-age of social networks that own your updates and give them the shelf life of unrefrigerated milk. Everybody needs a place to stretch his own legs. A place to voice one’s opinion. To do so in the cool quiet of his own piece of land, not the hum and din of the Agora.
Somewhere, in short, to procrastinate.
This is also not a blog. It is not meant for your enjoyment. I will not entertain. It’s a sometimes-blog, meant for my own creative release. (If you inadvertently enjoy it anyway, I take no responsibility). It’s not a vehicle for fame; in fact, if you’re reading here at all, it must mean that I’ve killed eleven people and set myself on fire and you’re a reporter wondering what happened.
(If that is the case, don’t be daft. Don’t ask my neighbors if they knew. Of course they’d tell you I was quiet and polite. They don’t want their property value to go down. Ask my ex-girlfriends).
I have other places you should go read in: tryscersfic is a Twitter-enabled flash fiction experiment that goes badly for at least three years now; This Was Last Year is an online novel, written in progress, scheduled to start failing from September 6th. I also write about Internet culture and technology, though most of it is in Hebrew. Now you see I lied: this site is useful. One column to the right you could see all that – where it says grab box – plus some other short-shelf-lived witticisms I post on Twitter.
See, you’re glad you stayed all the way till the end.
