What’s a better way to spend Christmas night than to write?
When I am alternating between light and darkness and the words of people confound me? When the incompleteness of the purely digital experience leaves a lot to be said, even when there’s a whole page, reams and pages, to write on?
We experience the reality of the desires of our flesh – our imaginations come to life, the future come to us – and yet it leaves us wholly empty. Having more than 2,000 friends on Facebook does not guarantee a fabulous night, or life. And thoughts come unbidden, sharper, piercing, made wilder by imaginings fired up by a single stroke of a key. Because as we have expanded our world, the more we have turned inwards. Better to drown the voices with, better to silence what we think are our truths.