mental masturbation

as i sat before the blank screen, listening to the soundtrack of my life, i thought about the concept of blogging. is this my living journal? i have kept a few journals in the past. personal journals, shared journals, art journals, all avenues for mental masturbation. i was trying to figure out if i wrote these posts for myself or my potential readers? i undoubtedly have plenty of love and revere myself, but is that the point of my posts? as i read papers on the Mandelbrot Set and the application of quantum theory to explain human irrationality, an old familiar song played over my headphones: Echoes by Pink Floyd. 

By chance two separate glances meet 

And I am you and what I see is me 
And do I take you by the hand 
And lead you through the land 
And help me understand the best I can 

i have long forgotten the days i thought i could feel the interconnectedness of existence. the memory reminded me of how i did as a small child believe in ghosts and spirits, and how much of my childhood i was without doubt. i used to believe i could feel others. really. but i have lost this feeling of interconnectedness. am i he as you are he and we are all together? or were the beatles seriously high on some lysergic acid diethylamide? probably both. as philosophically eventful ones own existence is,  the existence of others is even more epic. so, solution to my earlier ponderings is that i am writing for both me and the potential you, because i am a skeptic of your existence.  

i think the clouds have passed and the meteor shower has started. i can properly ponder the news that nasa published about meteorites holding the building blocks for dna and then reread  Meditations for the the product of the first three terms of Sylvester's sequence'nd time.