Dear Diary,
I think to myself, no, this paleness started when I had to look up what BlueSky is, again, because I cannot seem, still, to get my mind to accept even the phrase 'social media' when it seems so anti-social, and of course, it isn't, but what hive mind horror is it, actually? I am out on the fringes, just like usual, comme d'hab, and somehow it is even more solitary than when all we had was telephones, the kind with dials and coiled cords.
It makes me think of seeing Jonathan Richman singing his odd songs about milk shakes, in a drafty barn, a long time ago, and there again, I was in a small space; no one I knew had any idea who Johnathan Richman was. I saw Allen Ginsberg read in the same small barn, oh I couldn't even tell you when or where now, I guess.
I might be continuing pale for some time; and it might be I have always been on margins.
