I’ve Got Dreams To Remember

Four years ago, on a night not entirely unlike this one, I sat down to write the first trifling words of an endeavor that has amassed individual entries numbering nearly three thousand and words numbering well into the millions.

I have, more or less, managed to capture a glimmering sliver of hundreds of days – each of which have been treasures in themselves to me. If the culmination of my artistic life`s work remains only this, then I will not have wasted whatever few talents I have been granted.

Over the passage of each February, I have marked the occurrence of each anniversary of this chronicle`s commencement with some minor reflection (see: 2004 and 2005 and 2006) and I feel I should do so again – for my feelings towards the work has developed over the many days and hours I have invested.

Though there were many design developments (especially in the early days of this site`s creation), much of the layout and format have remained more-or-less the same for quite some time now. It took me a good while to figure out exactly how to achieve the effect I desired (in fact, much of my self-education in HTML is contained herein) but once I reached a layout with which I felt comfortable, it has stayed quite consistent.

My only quibble at this point is the absence of background music, which I will only be able to remedy with the inclusion of a Macromedia Flash file (due to the “embed” limitations recently imposed on Microsoft IE browsers).

Far beyond such trifles of style or visual aesthetic, is the impetus and/or personal intent of this singular narrative… a facet with which I have and continue to struggle.

A discipline I have imposed upon myself is that I must attempt to keep something of each day – be it an article, an image, or some paltry collection of footnotes to other issues or happenings.

Yet even within this I have striven to imbue each journal entry with my own presence – not simply linking to an article with a “Hey, check this out!” rejoinder, but offering some personal interaction (or is that “emotional content”) with the matter at hand.

Sometimes, all I can offer is a few scribblings of ham-fisted and flowery lyrical poetic versings; or the birthday observance of some famous person whose work has touched me in some way; or one of the more vivid and/or disturbing dreams which haunt me; or a meandering recollection of the mundane inanities of my day… but even in all of these, it is my hope that I can communicate a tiny gleam of the wonder that permeates and envelops every waking day of my small life.

Though I have not yet come to a rationally Theocentric justification for the purpose and governing dynamic of this very public enterprise, the only thing I could offer would be the explanation I recently offered a colleague of mine – whom had discovered the existence of my journal and inquired as to its purpose.

In response to her inquiry I said: “It is a long-winded and overly self-absorbed conversation with myself and my children, that takes place on my deathbed.”

…immediately after making this statement I realized the truth of it, which laid hidden and prowling behind my shallow wit.


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