The greater god

Is that a typo? A Freudian slip? I could go back and change it, and maybe should, but sometimes these accidents are best left as artifacts of our humanity.

I have two large things to share. One is a revelation that came to me in the past week, the other is a show of my vacation pictures that does not involve a slide projector nor a bedsheet.

Both have been established as My Words On The Internet over at LJ, but they're the kind of thing I want to cross post to here, and share with a different audience, in a venue that adopts a different tone in my mind.

But I'm caught up with the internal politics of Which First? Wait How Long In Between?

To be fair, those questions are the questions I'm not supposed to be asking anymore, and instead of ignoring them and doing whatever comes most naturally, I'm sitting here and writing a process piece.

I wish there was a market for my mental process. My most prolific moments are the ones of introspection. It's so difficult for me to write anything for these pet projects or guest articles, but I go on and on about myself and my compromised idealism and crumbling imagination.

Somebody give me a non-english saying that weighs the same as, "but that is all moonbeams and I have wells to dig."

Elven, maybe. Something Romantic.

This is all moonbeams, and I have wells to dig.