Because it’s a compulsion. Because it haunts me at night. Because it haunts me all damn day. Because I can never hit the news cycle. Because I need to write regularly again, see if the heart will still pump blood, if the muscles will still flex, aspirate, lift, heave, hurtle, hurdle. Because I’ll probably never be able to use enough parentheticals in print (because thoughts eddy endlessly (as if there was some centripetal force, some black hole at the center) and points of reference need to be defined). Because it’s a blog, for fuck’s sake. Because apparently all the cool kids have already moved on to Tumblr (now that I think about it the cool kids have probably already moved on to some platform I haven’t even heard of yet). Because this crew and all their factual opinions sometimes make me think there might be some life left in all this, that the English language isn’t just a calcified husk, a lost cause, clotted with dead phrases and TV dialogue and going stiff with rigor mortis. Because I disagree with mebbe half of what they have to say. Because most of ’em aren’t even writing anymore (what right-thinking, literate citizen does not miss Comics of the Weak, I ask you). Because my mother claims her family had a motto: Late, but in earnest. Because I’m not dead yet. Because my shrink would probably tell me it’s a good idea. Because something went wrong somewhere. Because I went off the rails. Because I only ditched. Because sure, one must accept these little hibernations, but this is getting ridiculous. Because people keep telling me the emails I fire off should be published, or referring to them as essays. Because I’m terrible at pitching. Because nothing’s ever finished, you just hit ‘send’ or ‘publish’ or smack up against the deadline and call it a day. Because you gotta know when it’s over you did the best you could. Because you wanna be immortal? Fight to be immortal. Because because because because because.