ARE FUTOIRS WHAT MEMOIRS DREAM OF?
For some time now, about an eighth of my life, I’ve craved privacy. Not dogs and fences and guns, but words, thoughts and feelings. Rather than whore my every wakened heartbeat via a public global blog, I just noted things in little black books. I called them futoirs as very few of them have yet to actually happen, even though I keep praying. But what chance do they have of germinating and propagating in the dark?
This is the first seed, the apple pip for 7 billion potential Adams to gag on. It could be a dud. It may well shrivel before your very heart, or speed it up a rev or two. It’s gonna take me a while to get the hang of this blogging, the tempo, the language, the rules. On the other hand, I might just carry on throwing wet flints out there until one dries out and sparks something. Yep, that’s more me. Nice to meet you, now get the kettle on.
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