No Insiders; No Spokesmen

No one in my life has much grasp of my inner life or true intentions. If you’ve been reading this Slog for a while, thoughtfully and sensitively, you know way more/better than anyone in my actual life. 

Little of what I write here is socially acceptable for discussion. It’s not like I’m going to lecture friends as we go out for tacos. Most people have meager internal lives…and keep that part tightly wrapped. Mine is more fertile, and I’d share it if anyone were interested, but that’s not what this world is about. So I write, here, for a sparse audience impatiently awaiting food porn. I have also written under alias from a more hardcore yogi perspective.

Friends pick up snippets and intimations over tacos, and figure they’ve really got me. It’d be lovely if they did, but they don’t. So I’m burying this clarifying note in case it’s useful later. This Slog speaks for me. No one else possibly can. Not my family, not my ex-girlfriends, and not my eating buddies. This isn’t a sigh of despondency; just a statement of truth.