Had a weird dream last night. I was in a bohemian restaurant and I jumped up on a table and started doing magic. Real magic. Actualizing colors and patterns in space, to the utmost pleasure of my audience. I agreed in beaming pride, I was really something, these siddhis were proof that I had been trebly blessed and possessed a near supernatural nature and the next thing I knew I was driving an old trashy truck the wrong way on a one way street in a very bad neighborhood and the only way out was down a wall with a big drop that probably mean't curtains for me and... then I woke up. With no small measure of residual existential guilt for squandering my many actual blessings and taking the gifts for granted. Still managed to find myself gasping for air in no man's land.
Strange thing happening with the blog. Many of you have stopped reading it. Prior to my brother's death it was two to four thousand views a day, now 41,385 last month and shrinking steadily. Down to about six hundred a day right now. After 6725 posts are we approaching the end of the line?
Now the truth is that I could give a shit, I write for myself after all. I recognize that I kept the pages up for an extra long time in the last two months, not wanting to lose my brother's memory and record. Then New Mexico, where I was essentially incommunicado. My output has been slender and you folks demand that your free literary entertainment not skip too many beats.
Funny, I like it when less people read me. I feel like the one's that count will always be there. It gets too big and cumbersome I start worrying about what nutjob I may be actually offending. Maybe I can now write intimately once again.
Leslie, who is downstairs involved in a Sex in the City marathon thinks that the Google algorithm was changed and that is the reason for the new paucity of hits. Could be, maybe they have stuck in a whiney hebrew filter?
Haven't written much fiction in ages, haven't felt the muse. Look forward to see where the next road in the bend takes us.