I have not written much in this space lately. Whether because of lack of anything important to say or just being downright busy all the time, I’m not really sure. Either way, I was recently thinking how a blog provides skewed insight into a persona (in this case, mine). In so many cases, we human beings attempt to encapsulate the objects of our attention into manageable, discrete packages, such that we might better understand said objects. Too often though, we fall into the trap of over-simplifying an idea, a thing, or worse, a person.

While weblogs are supposed to allow anybody to publish his or her thoughts to the world at large (or anybody willing to Google your name), the medium necessarily encapsulates only one part of its author: that which he is willing to share. No more than I do not shout from the roof tops my most personal of phantasmagoria, this space does not transmit that which I would not otherwise share with complete strangers out browsing the tubes. Each author finds the appropriate balance with which he or she is comfortable, and I believe I have found mine. In the larger sense, though, this purposeful subset may inadvertantly steer you, dear readers, into the false notion that all you discover here is me.

Please know that it is not.

Slow. Methodical. Thoughtful. It is the only way to proceed when playing with fire, figuratively speaking. While I allow myself to be impulsive at times, this is not one of them. So, I find myself in the predicament of “Amélie Poulin”:http://imdb.com/title/tt0211915/, relying on _stratagème_ in order to satisfy my imagination’s wild aims.

If the cryptic nature of my writing today has yet to sink in, I will say that my imagination is not truly the source of my conflicted state, as implied above, but rather its boundless ability to create satisfying states of mind stems secondarily from another source. In fact, it is blindly following, the pull too intense to ignore. Any description of this originator would, no doubt, reveal it to you, dear reader, thereby compromising the very integrity of my secret. I realize I am being hard on you, perhaps too hard. In time, the details of the future shall be revealed.

Of Amélie, it was said « _Elle aime ça, les stratagèmes._ » Well, so do I. I just wish I were as creative and thoughtful as her at formulating them. Truth be told, in reality I have only my wits, not secret plans. Secret plans make for delusion and more fires, things I’d do well to _not_ create.