It really shouldn't come as a shock to me that I've lost nearly all of my Journalspace posts. Google got tired of holding them for me. The important ones, I mean. I also failed to download the zip file that was sent to me, before the new owners took over the Journalspace domain. (Stupid, stupid stupid!!)
I'm trying to remember one very short poem I placed there. It isn't even a good poem, but I liked it because it reminded me of my human frailty. It said very loudly that I'm not a saint, and that being married doesn't make me immune to the appeal of men.
It went something like this:
I know the way my eyes glide over you
like a pair of ice dancers.
If they linger in one spot too long
(your lower lip)
I'll burn.
Showing posts with label Journalspace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Journalspace. Show all posts
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
The Sum of My Experience
Every human being on this earth is born with a tragedy, and it isn't original sin. He's born with the tragedy that he has to grow up. That he has to leave the nest, the security, and go out to do battle. He has to lose everything that is lovely and fight for a new loveliness of his own making, and it's a tragedy. A lot of people don't have the courage to do it.
Helen Hayes (1900 - 1993)
I've left cyber footprints on The World Wide Web. Many have been erased. This morning I learned that a lot of my marks were obliterated forever in a massive, late December drive failure over at Journalspace.
Just so you know, this place is not permanent, and can be gone in the blink of an eye.
So I wonder what to do. There is something so convenient about writing online. But I know that if, at the age of 10, I had written my childhood musings on the as-yet-undreamed internet, instead of in a diary or on index cards, those words would most likely not exist anymore. Exactly the same way my hundreds of private and public entries at Journalspace do not exist anymore, except in small, imperfect caches at Google. And even those will go away eventually, and can in no way be tied to me. You know...the me whose name is on a birth certificate and census records.
Even as a child, I was driven to leave a mark. I wanted to be a Famous Author, or at least remembered. So where, now, is the sum of my experience? Only in my head. Not on paper, not chiseled in stone. This THING I'm talking about was my biggest regret when my father died. That a brain that contained so much information was going away. Massive drive failure.
So do I start over here, or on paper? Or both? I'm tired of losing everything lovely.
Helen Hayes (1900 - 1993)
I've left cyber footprints on The World Wide Web. Many have been erased. This morning I learned that a lot of my marks were obliterated forever in a massive, late December drive failure over at Journalspace.
Just so you know, this place is not permanent, and can be gone in the blink of an eye.
So I wonder what to do. There is something so convenient about writing online. But I know that if, at the age of 10, I had written my childhood musings on the as-yet-undreamed internet, instead of in a diary or on index cards, those words would most likely not exist anymore. Exactly the same way my hundreds of private and public entries at Journalspace do not exist anymore, except in small, imperfect caches at Google. And even those will go away eventually, and can in no way be tied to me. You know...the me whose name is on a birth certificate and census records.
Even as a child, I was driven to leave a mark. I wanted to be a Famous Author, or at least remembered. So where, now, is the sum of my experience? Only in my head. Not on paper, not chiseled in stone. This THING I'm talking about was my biggest regret when my father died. That a brain that contained so much information was going away. Massive drive failure.
So do I start over here, or on paper? Or both? I'm tired of losing everything lovely.
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