The Exhumation

It has been a very long time hasn't it, Blog? This post may as well be your resurrection assuming that without the 'bookmarking' capabilities of my computer, I would  never have been able to find you again. And why not call this post something as ridiculous as The Exhumation, after all someone  strange enough to talk to a text box like an old friend, and think of something so literarily morbid as the above title may very well be expected to revisit a long-neglected blog.

But cobwebs aside, it's time for me to give my Facebook updates a break and do some real writing. Writing is a wonderful thing isn't it? Can anything really parallel how ridiculously impactful these 26 letters can be once rearranged into poems or sonnets, novels, love letters, hate male (or critiques), or maybe even a lowly blog like this one. No Offense. 

Whatever the caliber, writing is arguably the biggest influence on life, next to experience. Experience being the mother of knowledge and the father of wisdom, but the wise learn from others harm and the fools from their own. So of course I am glad that I too have been able to share in the symptomatic wisdom that has resulted from the experiences of others written into the pages of books. It is so true that there is something learned every time a book is opened, and books give no wisdom where there was not wisdom before. In some odd way we are all sitting on the shoulders of others' great experiences, learning and reaching further into new pitfalls in order to hoist up the next. Soon will we run out of experiences to learn from for one another, and to write about in order to share yet another lesson with each other? 

Maybe. But something tells me I will find plenty of my own mischief to write about, and maybe pave the way to the next for someone else to discover and pass on. 

Nice to see you again old friend, plenty of tangled versions of these 26 to come.