This finds me (us) wondering WHat (pronouncing the H with extra blowhardedness) in the world to I might have to say that anyone would ever want to hear (or read, more accurately)?
The answer: Quite a bit, I imagine.
Exactly the specific thing or thought I express seems to not mean as much as just keeping it as focused aroung the title as possible. (I am a firm believer in the run-on sentence, so best to get over that now.) I suppose, by disecting the title (which I just made-up under the pressure of having to think of a title to continue setting up an account) I may have stumbled upon my perfect blogathy. (See, you can just make up words!) I also figure, as such, that everything is made of energy (or matter) expanding always since the big-bang. So that, in conclusion, I wouldhope to have a place where matter (thoughts, ideas, emotions, art, anger, dissapointment) might be recycled for compost.
