The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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What Hath God Wrought?

Relaunching my blog, after a hiatus of over one year, deciding to give it a new title, new font, and possibly a new focus as well. The reader and I will learn together what I have in mind.

The title of this first entry is the first message that Samuel F.B. Morse transmitted when he invented the telegraph, quoting from Numbers 23:23. The title of the blog itself is the first line of the diary that 1984‘s doomed protagonist, Winston Smith, begins in the first chapter of that novel.

In the era of Donald Trump, a Presidency which has permanently destroyed the Potemkin village the USA has created for itself, and exposed the country and most–but not all–of its citizenry for what they really are, many have spoken of revolution and of resistance. Taking a page from Keith Olbermann, journalist and commentator par excellence, I began signing off my letters with “Resist!”. There has been a lot of talk back and forth on social media, such as Facebook, Twitter, and the various blog-hosting sites, about the best way to bring about revolution, and the ultimate way to rebel.

In all the talk about Donald Trump’s total anathema to truth, the endless lies and distortions from Fox News, and the desperate attempts by the sycophants in the Trump Administration to either walk back or explain away his most blatant and embarrassing untruths, I realized that Winston Smith, the main character in Orwell’s novel, had seized upon the most revolutionary method of all.

In his discontent about the society of Airstrip One where he lives, he begins to plot revolution. But, he does not start building a bomb, he does not abduct the family member of a prominent government leader or banker, he does not get a weapon and begin stalking a politician.

He buys a notebook from a junk store, and begins a diary.

Here would be a record that no government could alter. Here he could record his own thoughts and his own memories, a tangible record that would serve as a balance to the constant lies fed to him by the media of his day. “I exist!” cries out every word that Winston (and all diarists, real and fictitious) puts to paper.

And the writing continues, even with Stephen Crane’s famous poem in mind:

A man said to the universe: 
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe, 
“The fact has not created in me 
A sense of obligation.”

As to what this blog will produce, and what I will say in it, you will learn as I learn.