The Death of a Transparent Man

So I am sitting here starting thoughts with contractions, thumbing through the idea of Internet blogging and wondering how I ever got sucked into this vortex. How did I ever end up back in this place? Haven't we gone through this before? Don't we know how this is going to end? Does the past not speak for itself? These things never work. Nobody reads them. At best it becomes a safe outlet for my thoughts where no one can find them unless explicitly directed. At worst, time’s lethal injection. My life really isn't that exciting people. I should know I live with it every day.

And yet I am here, pushing out another one. It’s as if I am still-birthing a blog. Maybe that is why I am here; to mourn the loss. And yet in the center of death is the very place where life begins. Like a phoenix from the ashes, so too rises man from the grave. For can a seed bear fruit if it does not first find its resting place in the ground? Is not the acceptance of death the very prophet which ushers in life? And so it begins with the death of the transparent man.