This much I know is true:

What a blog is NOT

waves, at South Beach Co. Wicklow
a stiff creak in the hip
a velvet curtained stage
a dog chasing a passing cyclist
dirt under my finger nails after transplanting raspberry canes
salty sea wind on my face
the half hour ahead of us

What a blog IS

the world as it looks through a series of broken mirrors
a dark undulating plain, in which certain moments are spotlit
part of the story I put down, that cannot fade
a digital loom, for words and images
a way to describe loose ends of thought
like a sound, just for the sake of it, in a public stairwell
a white sky full of zeros and ones
holding a pose, in text
‘ memory’s furious land ‘

What a blog COULD be

up for consideration
a new way to think about your dog
bewildering cubist constructions and biomorphic shapes
a way to shake up internal composure
something to read at an airport