Curious Red Thread

The thread goes where the thread goes. The wheel weaves where the wheel wills.

I am on the verge of leaving Seattle (read: Lynnwood) for Texas. My time has been an unwieldy blob. Soon it will be like water in the desert. Present but scarce.

I am going to business school as an MBA candidate. This outcome now appears so obvious but so ironic that I never would have thought of it until the lightning hit and my world flipped and it was already happening.

Now once again, I don’t know who I am writing for here nor why I am writing. —Articles? Short essays? Thoughts? Fragments? Vignettes of my life? Sardonic wisdom? Personal Jungian fantasies? Bad philosophy? For who? For me? Or for you?

There aren’t many of you. Only a handful. But you’re all quite different. Very different.

What are you here for?

Well, you must be interested.

In what? I would say that you’re interested in me or my thoughts—that’s all that’s here, anyway. But other than that, I don’t know what you want. So, I’m going to give myself a little bit more liberty because, for some reason, I have imposed constraints on myself. I forced a style. (Or maybe I just got lazy.)

Better to just write.

And if there is something you want more of, then ask. Or ask for something particular. But lurking is okay too.

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Robert Henri: You pass people on the street, some are for you, some are not.

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