It’s because it feels like All the Things have already been…said.
There are no new thoughts. No new thoughts.
(This is probably not a new thought.)
This is why there are no new blawg posts.
What’s in a blog? that which we call a thought/ By any other name would smell as sweet.
Revelations are different now. A shade gray-er than they used to be, but don’t think “depressing.” Maybe it feels like oldpeoplegrayhairs-gray. Which…I’m not sure how to describe without sounding depressing or trite or self-consciously “[un]wise.” Even the thoughts that make my heart warm and eyes sparkle and soul feel nourished and good
feel old, and well-worn. If not by me, then certainly by many thinkers, many iterations, many ages. Many yesterdays.
I glide along tracks worn smooth, bone-white,
yeah, hood of bone,
or just bone-headed.