It All Meant Something. Until It Didn't.

I Can Remember Exactly Where I Sat When My Teacher First Read Roald Dahl's 'james And The Giant Peach'.

But The Grind Has Begun. The Windows Don’t Open, And Even The Availability Of Near-constant Jokes About Jews And Mormons Fails To Stem The Tide Of Frustration, Decay. We’ve Reached The End Of Pure Inspiration, And Are Now Somewhere Else, Something Implying Routine, Or Doing Something Because People Expect Us To Do It, Going Somewhere Each Day Because We Went There The Day Before, Saying Things Because We Have Said Them Before, And This Seems Like The Work Of A Different Sort Of Animal, Contrary To Our Plan, And This Is Very Very Bad.

To Me, The Print Business Model Is So Simple, Where Readers Pay A Dollar For All The Content Within, And That Supports The Enterprise. The Web Model Is Just So Much More Complicated, And Involves This Third Party Of Advertisers, And All These Other Sources Of Revenue That Are Sort Of Provisional, But Haven't Been Proven Yet.

But I'm Thinking About 12 Things At Once, A Hundred Thousand Times A Day. Most People Do, I Would Imagine.

The Air Is Like Being Wanted, We Say, And They Nod Approvingly. The Air Is Like Getting Older, They Say, And They Touch Our Arms Gently.