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2003-09-17 - 8:52 p.m.


They say you can't go home again.

I learned what that phrase meant when I moved out of my parents' house almost three years ago. No, earlier. Maybe when I left for college. If not then, certainly when I went to live in London. A whole ocean away from your family and friends for a half a year, you learn that 'home' is a relative term. "Family" is forever. "Home" is a morphing abstract.

I say all this because for almost a year, this diaryland place has been home to my rants, random thoughts, poems, stories, and other idiotic ramblings. I left it a while back, and returned recently, and you know what? I'm already bored. I feel like, I don't know, like I've already done this.

Something's missing, and I think it's the novelty.

Part of it is, well, this diary was a way for me to communicate with Shannon, who was a country away. A fun way to show her who I was. Now that she's here, part of the point in doing it is gone.

What I want is to start over. Not as a me me me sort of diary platform, which has its limits (and I think I reached them). I want a whole new stage to act out on. I'm thinking online magazine, a new website, a place I can gather work from my many talented friends and put them together in a weekly or monthly format and just do something NEW.

So this is it, for real this time, and thanks for reading. If you read before, and came back when I woke out of hibernation, thanks for coming back and I wish I could have stayed longer. But this isn't home anymore.

So as not to be a total bummer, I'm going to post one last entry after this one, a quotation by Hunter Thompson that I think sums everything up rather nicely. When the online magazine thing gets going--if it does, and I hope I can pull it off--I'll post a link in here.

BTW, look for an article by me (on poet Robert Lowell) in October's

Anyone wanna keep in touch, or contribute something to my magazine efforts, my email address is Put something about diaryland in the subject line so I don't erase your message with all the spam.

God hates a coward.

Honk if you love noise pollution.

Eat the rich.

Crotch-kickingly yours,




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