OK, goethe-boy, I'll scrawl on your microscopic shard of the Wall. I doubt the world is looking, though. Blogs have more in common with guys that have sex in a public toilet. A few people might figure out what sort of transaction you and your pal are conducting but only the few who happen into your john. Now getting a book published -- that is more like graffitti was in NYC in, say, the fifties. When the Big Apple was the apple of god's eye. Now this global culture has someone such as myself, a wouldbe Grubstreeter, competing with some kid from the streets of Saigon, or whatever it is called this week. Fifteen nanoseconds of fame. That is all we should be allowed. It is a far cry from Shakespeare's London. Which, I think, had a population of about half a million in 1600. Have to check on that. But so long as me scribbling here will get you scribbling this is cool. If it was about your feelings and thoughts and ontological proof of your sorry little existence... well, I just wasn't going to watch you do that to yourself. In the privacy of your own compartment -- sure -- whack away. But in a place where people can pass by? If you must I wouldn't stop you -- mostly because I would be pretending not to know you. Sakes!