So, I've finally decided to hold my nose and jump into the community pool that is the blogosphere. I do this knowing full well that the pool is full of nice people who'll let me ride their inflatable orca and toss the beach ball with me, as well as jerks who think it's great fun to grab the string of your swim trunks and pull as hard as they can. And the lifeguards are all off necking in cars parked just across the woods from the hospital for violent psychotics.
So I'm plunging in, and I'm going to watch the bubbles and swim down to the bottom and see if I can find any pretty rocks among the concrete chips. If anyone tries to pants me, I'll just have to stand up for myself since those aforementioned lifeguards aren't anywhere around.
A few words about why it's the Falcon's Gyre. As W. B. Yeats famously starts one of his poems, the falcon turns in a widening gyre, taking in everything below it but not lingering overlong on any one thing (and that's pretty much the only parallel between my maunderings here and Yeats' dark poem).
That's pretty much my Mission Statement, there. I'll put up my thoughts on matters diverse and sundry, from the profound to the silly, the divine to the mundane, whatever falls under my falcon eye as long as this thermal lasts.
I'm really cutting new paths of bloggerdom here, ain't I?
I really can't promise good insights, just my two cents. I don't think I'll ever be a Big Dog. Certainly the Kos phenomenon is a rare and frightening thing.
But I'll keep doing this as long as inspiration strikes. Maybe I'll strike it big, maybe not. We'll just have to see.
This ought to be fun.