Cracks in the World

Often I write about technology or curiosities. Occasionally I write about comedy or politics. Rarely I write other things.

On those rare occasions, I press a publish button that hurts just a little. I put skin in the game. Sometimes I ask myself why. It hurts to write things down that matter. It hurts more to pull back the skin to reveal the tissue and sinew to the world. Why do I do it?

The world is not a clean place. It’s made of dirt, puke and scars. We are all made of dirt, puke and scars. In some way, I’m trying to be a real human at the other end of a web browser. I’m not a URL or IP address. I exist beyond an avatar or Twitter handle. Behind every snarky article and questionable rumor there is a deeply flawed person pretending to be a writer or artist. There are charlatans among us.

My dents are small but they are mine. I’ve tried to leave the world in a slightly better condition than I found it, but I try to leave a mark. App reviews and keyboard shortcuts are fun, but what do I have to point to that I am proud of? I review a lot of PDF editors. That’s not tombstone material.

Who am I? Who do you think I am? Well, I’m a collection of things that I put into the world. I am the things that I do over and over. As far as you know, I am this Web site. So this Web site has a tiny bit of me floating around. It has letters to my daughter and conversations with my father. It has mother’s day cards and motorcycle accidents. It has love and hate and disappointment. It has cracks because the world is not an app review.