Something something something

It should be more than this. It should be less than a day between this and the last one, but it turns out there's not as much drive as I thought. Maybe it's like other exercise, you have to warm up and get going again. A few steps here. Twenty-one hours gap between posts. Then Twenty, then fewer, then suddenly a burst of several.

I feel released not only from the expectation of saying something sensible and interesting enough to attract votes, but also from the daily rhythm of automatic voters who create, unintentionally (I do it myself) a constraint on how much point there is to writing.

What is the point of writing? If not to gain an audience and a commentary or conversation, and if not to gain more blockchain pennies than the others? Or rather if not driven by the reward? That sounds like it's an end in itself and not a means to an end. Can that be? Isn't that what the wise ones say is the road to happiness? Do it, just for the sake of it. "To labour, and not to ask for any reward, save that of knowing that we do Thy will..." Thank you Thomas.

This pan sat in the river for long enough for it to become rusted and encrusted with sand. Something organic at the bottom left hand. Is it a large spider or dragonfly with legs spread out or is it a leaf with it's veins holding ridges of crust?

It's gone now, back underwater. Soaking up more river, being oxidised away, atom by atom, a crumb here, a crumb there, leaving home, wandering alone, finding the others with whom to make something of something.

Or something.