Just Me

Samuel Johnson declared “only a blockhead writes for anything except money.” Those who have kept diaries, journals, blogs or even unpublished books would disagree.

There is something in organizing writing that not only concentrates thought, but also leaves a residual Improvement on the brain. It is a solitary equivalent of conversation. It is also a wonderful (or time wasting) diversion whose other virtue is that it costs little.

Technology has made writing and exposing so easy today that everyone does it. So many thoughts. In that flood, impossible to read much. Not too many centuries ago, all the literature many colonial Americans possessed was the Bible and the plays of Shakespeare. Today more than that pops up on the internet in a minute or two, intertwined with other seductive media.

Not long ago, many aimed to write to change the world. Now that is a forlorn hope. In that way, we have returned to the environment of Dr Johnson. 

But I find great freedom. No longer constrained by dreaming of great influences _ nor even of just changing your mind _ I can say just what I want, when I want, for the sheer joy of shouting into the universe.

It’s just me … and my trusty chromebook.

Foolish blockhead.

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