A young woman takes her clothes off and gets 5000,000 hits in less than six months.

I spill my guts, like the down home spirit of the great Mississippi, and I can barely scrounge up 150 hits. Half of which are from people I know. So then, for what does my enterprise yield? Does it matter if it only resonates with a small but ultimately trusty few?

It is, by definition of interpretation, to be ignored by the masses and adored by a captive few?

I read a lot more than I let on. For every screen of lascivious pornography, there are two tabs of blogs. News articles. Reviews. Rumor sites. I study writing and writers. Style and prose. I look to harmony of the text and voice of the writer. I endure the good the bad and unfit. I seek out trends and topics of interest. I wonder. Wonder why bloggers blog and how they think. And, like any guy, I compare mine to theirs. If they are bigger I want to know why. Want to know what they are saying that I am not. Sometimes I figure it out; sometimes it is a loss.

A young woman takes her clothes off and gets 5000,000 hits in less than six months.

Well I don't have breasts.

All I have is are these guts. These thoughts. These observations.

Maybe I'll never know if that's enough.

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