sophistry

we start blogging in secret. fake names, real stories, bias views. we make fake friends with real people in our fake universe. they read our bias view, we read theirs, then we comment on and applaud our "openness". we take those arguments and convictions into the real world, into our real relationships, thumping lame convictions over our loved ones heads. no one is moved, concussions are made, we toss and turn in our beds - next to real people, until we return to our open diaries.

diaries aren't meant to be public - not until we are dead anyway. my girlfriend leaves her diary next to her bed, or under a pillow she knows i will use. i'm scared to peep, it tempts, but what would i learn? i've pryed my way in deep enough, people scare me.

i have my own, hand written and fallen apart before filled. a stack of them, unkempt and sporadic, useless for posterity. now i have this, a second attempt blog, a journal with a comment section. fucking hypocrite. boredom? i don't know.

blogging in secret; my fake name, real stories, one sided thumps on the head. all lies, even the true parts.