The String of Pearls, William Paxton, 1908.
(ghastly, isn't it?)
Dear Friends,
I have been slipping. I have been remiss. I have been playing video games instead of writing to you regularly.
I have some things I want to send you soon: a cut and paste project I am working on, some photos, a complaint about Other People. Maybe I won't send that to you, you know it all already anyway. But, for now, there is this, a funny thing, a wry thing, that I hope you will enjoy!
Dear Readers,
Do you know why I am here? Did I ever tell you why I write to you? It might be a good time to remind you, even if I did tell you before. I write here because of time. I saw so many things evaporating; things like bowling alleys, telephones with cords, film cameras, all kinds of stuff that maybe isn't very meaningful actually, but it seemed like a lot of good stuff was going the way of the dodo, so I thought I'd make a little list, a little collection, and give it to you, here. But, I didn't really do that. I started on it, and sometimes it seeps in, but I thought it was kind of sorrowful to just send you lament after lament. So that was what I planned to do here, but that isn't what I do, and this leaves my purpose here intentionally ambiguous. How about you? Why do you come by?