The September 27th post

Well, I finished it and I'm not really sure what day it is right now or if this is any good. I am pretty sure I did not get across what I wanted to, and not really sure what I wanted to communicate made any sense!

I just had this feeling when I was out on the river that I was living close to the metal, so to speak, and somehow the arts were like this rarefied privileged thing, which well, they aren't.

So maybe it is appropriate that I finally wrote it up in a haze between nap and sleep after pointlessly reading websites for an hour that I knew would make me angry.

Which, well, suggests I need another blog.

If we accept Freud's classification of ego, superego, and id, which is trite but somehow useful, I think this blog could end up functioning as ego, the excuses excuses thing as superego, and I still need some place for the id to rage. I suspect this should be anonymous.

At least that is what the superego tells me.