Dancing on Needles

I've been engaged with some real sleaze-buckets. The dregs of the dregs. Real bad actors. Who knows maybe they are just a figment of my imagination?!

And they make me laugh, and make me stronger. And whatever they were trying to accomplish, I say "Hah! What fools! And thanks for showing me the way!"

Sometimes it is amazing and awe-inducing to see the depths of degradation a human being will gladly sink to. So very instructive. It is evident in the larger context and in the smaller context too. And then, well, we live in the context of no context.

Anyway, an interesting subject kind of came up in this context. Who is it that actually writes this blog? Is it dumps? is it sunny? Is it the one called "which one is dumps?" Are these words the result of the existential battle between two mythological characters: dumps and sunny?

Is it all the doing of the nameless flesh and blood apparition that fuels up on coffee and types into the void?

Is this "I" that "I" refer to just a fictive construction? Is every "I" a lie? Is this all just a fruitless branch of Epistemology or just pissing in the wind?

How many sunnyjimmy's can dance on the head of a pin? And once you get them all up there, is there any room for dumps?

I imagine the ideal blogger. "I" am not that blogger. I mean I'm not even sure I exist. Although I do believe God exists and he is the ideal blogger. But I imagine being him, and just like those Arthur Murray dance lessons, I tentatively try to follow the steps.