And yet another new blog. I've decided to abandon my multiply account and set up shop here.  Terrible, I know. It has officially turned into a bad habit: blog hopping.  And I'm ashamed to admit that it's possibly the only way for me to sustain my interest in writing. Blogging, it turns out, is a lot like falling in love: the initial euphoric warmth wanes until all but unfeeling coldness is left, and the only way to avoid being slowly killed by the timid poison of indifference is to let oneself wander in search of other beauties.  Also, I realized that I'm the type of person who is better at starting things than ending them.  This brings to mind the tank of tropical fish I had when i was a kid.  I was absorbed in it for a few months or so (diligently feeding the fish, cleaning the tank, checking the filter, etc); however, the day I discovered Nintendo was the day my fish started choking in their own shit (And, if you must know, yes, it was the classic Nintendo Entertainment System. And yes, the janitor fish did survive, but I sure hope it lived to tell the tale of the amusement park water ride that is my toilet though).  

I won't even be bold enough to forecast how many entries I will post on this account before I abandon it like I did my poor tropical fish, for I have come to accept the fickle nature of desire. I would be just as happy with five posts as I would with fifty. But I do hope those virtual eyes that occasionally grace my blogs will be interested enough to follow me wherever I go, and if that interest can no longer be sustained, this is all I have to say: I do not give a shite! Besides, there are far more productive things to do than to read the blog of a neurotic. Children are suffering in the Third World for Chrissake!  Do something about it!

And so, for as long as desire temporarily circulates in the "object petit a" that is this blog, here I remain.  Just a post(-)colonial, (post-) modern guy who knows that when a blog is being written to be posted here it means that a dissertation on the political uses of love in Badiou, Fromm, Marcuse and Fanon isn't.