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In a sense – a felt sense, for me personally – there is no continuation. There is only a sharp, staccato blur of re-creation, existence mimicking itself near-perfectly, moment by moment, until what we have is but a copy of a copy of a copy of something we barely remember.

I’ll be around, for certain values of “I”, and I want to be around in a new way. Only the beginnings of the plan exist as of yet, but there is an intention to create a plan, and to create with forethought and purpose.

I am trying a way of being I call Slow Sprints. That is where I have a finish line – a goal – a purpose – something tangible I intend for myself – but I do not rush hastily toward it. I act with care. I choose deliberately. I allow the small voices of the moment to speak to me.

At the moment my goal is to assert my existence, in whatever twisty, wispy shape it takes now.

During the month of November, I wrote fifty thousand words of a thing I might hesitantly refer to as a “novel”. It caved in on itself, and I built it up from scratch, over and over again. I do not think the Fast Sprint is the way I want to approach creation, or indeed life.

During 2015, I intend to write something that does not fall down. I intend to write something that hangs together very beautifully, and intricately. That will be my way of assuring myself that I exist.

What is the Self, after all, but the most laborious construction project ever undertaken? And what is it built on but hopes and dreams and wishes? Pull one tiny thread in the web of relationships that holds your Self together, and the whole ridiculous edifice comes crumbling right apart.

In any case, here I am, Internet. Let’s be friends.

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