Well folks (me). It's me (me) again. I have work tonight but I can't sleep so I thought I'd wake up and see what's going on on the interwebs. Most unsurprisingly, jack shit is going on (name dropper). It's funny, when you put stuff out there on the internet, it's [theoretically] there to stay. In this modern day and age any fat guy with a collection of pocketed sweatpants (and really, who doesn't LOVE sweatpants with a back pocket for liquor store runs?) can, in a sense, accomplish what the great authors of history have had to toil for.

For fuck's sake, the godawful Jason Chen at Gizmodo (too lazy to link...but you know where the fuck Gizmodo is) posts some of the most dreadfully awful commentary that I've ever read ANYWHERE. Annnnnd yet - thousands of page clicks a day. Look at their site stats on Technorati. It's ridiculous. Writing...it used to be about connection. Look at the greats - Thomas Hardy, Alexander Dumas, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and if you're hipster enough, Kerouac. These guys are so well known that my spell checker doesn't even flag them as a problem. But there used to be a connection. People used to read not just to learn, but to share in experiences. And these men, these masters (in more than a few cases there are some female masters, too), they saw the human experience so clearly...the futility of trying to escape your reality while simultaneously realizing that you can still change who you are...their message is eternal. It doesn't matter what century you were born in - these greats write prose that speaks to generation after generation.

I'm as guilty as Chen (though with a better vocabulary and, I think, a better cadence to my writing) because I mostly publish mental masturbation material - throwaway writing (that nobody reads). Although my site stats have indicated that I've picked up something of a following in the Ukraine! So...holla to my Ukranian brothas from another motha and sistas from anotha mista!

Yes, I publish a blog. Yes, I blurt out quick spurts of information. But I work hard to make contributions to fucking literature, yo. That's the eternal conversation. Sure you can read it on your Kindle or iPad or Poopbox or whatever, but the point is - and my hope is - that books never die. The masters of history, the masters who through the gift of storytelling have reminded us of the human condition; those are the ones we should seek to emulate, or to at least learn from.

Enlightenment can be a pain - and it kills as many as it saves, but we owe it to ourselves to discover something outside what we know. I joke a lot about having no readers, and the stats indicate that most of you click a link and then drop out, which saddens me, but alas - I'm here to stay.

Take a moment. Put down your Blackberry/iPhone/Buttfacephone whatever. Turn off your Google Talk account. Log out of Facebook. Read this short story by the one and only man who I ever looked up to, F. Scott Fitzerald.

I know you won't. But think about it. Here's the link. I won't tell you anything more than it is a piece of prose that possesses such powerful imagery and such vivid character that...well. Let's just say it's worth it.

On a final note, I wish that J.D. Salinger had been publicly psychoanalyzed. From "Franny and Zooey" (another great short story) to his seminal work "The Catcher In the Rye," homeboy clearly explored his subconscious in a very personal and intimate way.

That's what I hope to do. Hopefully you and I can connect. Hopefully we'll share a random experience together and the world will...for once....seem a lot smaller. In the age of Chatroulette where you can see everything from random penises to disappointed men waiting for something other than random penises, we've lost our connection. The human experience is digitized - I say we go analog. I say we live together. We experience things together. The more that write about what's right...the better. There are few voices left that are not tainted by commercialism, let your voice be heard, let your voice be heard for free...that's what this is all about - in a world full of people yelling for attention, let us be silent and listen. Our fellow (wo)man will teach us about ourselves if we have the patience to listen, the forethought to learn and the determination to proceed.

If you do read this, whether Ukranian or otherwise, I deeply appreciate that you even slightly care what I have to say. I realize I'm just a voice in the ether (although, if I may brag....the 32,000th most read blog online), and maybe my voice means nothing to you, or something. But thank you. Thank you for enabling me to realize where I need to open up, and thank you for not reading or reading. This is, after all, my blog. So anyone else who comes is a welcome guest to a very real party. For now, I'm off to read some more Fitzgerald and hopefully grab some more sleep.

Nobody may love you, everyone may love you. You must first love yourself.