Migrant Writers

It’s been interesting to see how and where people move their thoughts in the last year or two. Some of the tortoises are moving things from Xanga to LiveJournal or here; others here to LiveJournal or ProseBox; most have already given up and moved to Facebook where reality supposedly lies; still others remain in the surreal stratosphere of Tumblr. I’m not sure where Twitter falls in this topography or if anyone still blogs on MySpace or Friendster or if there is something sleeker and better and similar to all of this, not quite literal as we live it but not quite substantial enough to sustain insincerity. I tweeted awhile back about how Harrison Ford’s 71st birthday signaled that the end was very near for him now; I’m starting to feel that way about this, too. Open Diary as Indiana Jones in…? A crack of the whip and a click of the pistol, even The Diary Master doesn’t care anymore. It won’t always be here and I don’t really know what to think about that because who thinks about something not being there after nearly 14 years? What happens when my adolescence dies? What happens when I don’t know you anymore?

We all go eventually and you don’t need a dog’s ears to hear the whimper. But that won’t make it easier when the time finally comes.