The difference between a vision and a visionary…like the difference between hindsight giving the illusion of a life that was intended to happen and foresight giving direction to a life not yet lived.

I ask myself the same question – which am I, a vision or a visionary?

I, I, I…’tis nice to say that word and know I really mean it.

Do I stay in the imperfect colloquial mode or present a new language that is still only an approximation of a communication system that exists outside these states of energy?

Stuck in the same mode for a few days – making fun of myself to prevent hardening of the arterial channels of my thought set – as I ease into another habit.

That is, if I can form a new habit.

Water pours out of the rusted gutter.  Rain batters leaves of the spindly tree.

Patterns repeating themselves.

I can give in to these repeating patterns and call them my true comfort zone, or not.  Two of many choices.

Neither either/or nor not either/or, neither [nigh-ther ee-ther/or nor not eye-ther/or, nee-ther].

Freedom to be me, no more taking notes in public, letting opportunities of my species pass me by as I slip into obscurity once again (if I was ever really obscure – globally-speaking, yes, locally, no).

It was fun entertaining the masses without making a dime in the process.  I lived the life I always imagined and enjoyed many parts of it.

But the millennia of repetition bogged me down.

I want something new, or at least new for myself.

Diane Prosser and Brenda Craig traveled the world and told me about their adventures, a few I imitated like a good social, mimicking primate.

I want something else.

Even if I can’t have what I want.

I’ll give myself credit for trying because there are no hard-and-fast rules or grading system to label my efforts.

Find a way to fill the gap between birth and death of this version of the states of energy I know (at least partially) as me.

No matter what I do, the gap will be closed one way or another, with or without my help.

Thanks goes to Christina Aguilera for playing along with the old me and the game of pretending to predict the future.  The same for Trevor Bayne and Jeff Gordon and all the others along the way, including Hillary Clinton – basically, the people I don’t know exist except through news headlines because I can’t say with firm facts that they really exist, although I think I can say I saw Jeff Gordon from a distance once, or perhaps a person wearing a helmet with that name.

So much of my life is a matter of imagination, meaning the same applies to other states of energy like myself.

In that vein of thought, a bird and a moth have no concept of a window pane.

If I’m going to die like everyone else, why the interest in self?

Because creating a nearly self-contained universe is the goal I seek.

But not self-sufficiency.

Just like everyone else.

Trying to hide the repetition from myself as much as possible.

And then die.

Life completed.

Happily or not.

If one moves the people, one moves aside and lets them pass by.

One intends neither to lead nor to hide, simply to be.

Word counts don’t count.

Counts don’t count words.

The satirical self is tucked away.

Time to take one seriously for one’s own sake and not to placate one’s vanity.

I’ve humoured the people long enough – time to put self first and see where this goes, storing words in a public space in another corner of the narcissistic blogosphere, free of fear of letting people down or not entertaining people enough to keep their interest.

What about me?

That’s what I intend to find out.