We classify what, where, when, how, and why we write, I suppose, according to our need for order. For the comfort of logic—and in accord with how we have been taught to think. The rationale underlying the words we record is so much more meaningful and clearer if we can attach a sense of organized complexity to it; but not too much. Not so much that the purity of its logic is hidden beneath confusing layers of intersecting or competing ideas. Or, worse, chaos. Reality, though, is inherently messy. A novel is not necessarily purely a novel; it can be a memoir in camouflage. A blog post can hide joy or torment. Even a a list can conceal thoughts not meant for public scrutiny. Today, the absence of a more meaningful post can illustrate the need for sleep. And it does. Again.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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