I sat down to write what I thought would be this entry. Turns out it was more of a diary entry.

Not because of anything other than, really, that when I set my work aside to stew and come back to, I realized I'd written in two ways. One, to work out something I'd been sitting on for most of the past couple decades.

And two, about as circuitously as possible, which meant frankly it bored me just to re-read it. So, important and useful to write and stick in the diary, not so much of interest here.

Ok then, I thought. I'll just take a wandering surf around the web.... yeah, not happening. Because of the general chaos, of course, but also because I ran across something entirely different and separate from the headline events.

And I just couldn't. The story I pieced together didn't have anything to do with me, world events, important artists or writers or really much of anything that would matter to an audience of more than an eclectic handful. It was inside gossip involving players I stumbled across only in the course of following a web's worth of bread crumbs.

And it threw me completely back to the diary entry that was. I'd tried to work my own way, without naming names, through a... not action, a feeling inside a small community long sense lost to memory. A feeling I'd, knowingly, carried around with me for close on thirty years now.

And so I couldn't much write about that, either, could I? Both stories, mine and this flare up that others are dealing with in their place that could only have become known because of the way the internet works... Well mine I could at least keep to myself.

Besides, I like those folks in that long ago group, scattered as they might be these days. Digging up old bone likes that I can best leave safely to the extraordinarily unlikely future digital archaeologists who might need the work.