it's been so long that I forgot my login details
things happened, this and that, and other things, and somehow, slowly but surely, this place became something from another life -- one that hadn't kept up with the pace of change, perhaps, or one too quickly outgrowing its monstrous, lovely pasts...
perhaps, perhaps. perhaps all these solitary words I dispatched into the vasty tundras of cyberspace served a purpose I hadn't previously understood -- to reach out to resonant souls, & eventually to reach one so resonant that words no longer seemed necessary. what happened to idlethink? friends ask. in response, I mock-glare sidelong at Adam & tell them, that's what happened. in the past, I would moor those idle thoughts with words, which I would drop like small anchors into my unruly Lethe; I would e.g. write about the way the fog in Cambridge, on that very splendid morning, drained all the colour out of the world, and disclosed a riverside full of tremulous spiderwebs, glistening wetly. now, exuberance never makes it into writing; it is trapped in the net of shared experience, hauled into memory by clasped hands and contented silences. I am anchored by mutual understanding. melancholia is also thusly disposed of, by a boy all too good at making me happy. what's left, but the banalities? thus, silence.
also, I hate writing in company, and I have (entirely willingly) rarely been alone these past months. writing in company feels like undressing in public. but worse -- as though, despite your best efforts to look dignified while doing it, somehow the stockings won't unroll properly, and you trip over yourself trying to stumble out of them, and you get your head stuck as you try to remove a blouse that should have been unbuttoned before removal, and meanwhile the bra is undone and hanging loose in a most unsexy way, and you are ALAS wearing the granny pants, etc. it feels sort of like that.
I hope this goes some way towards an explanation, and an apology. but just to say, there may be more here, presently. I'm on the move again, and a year of travel is a long time to keep too much bottled up.