Here are Banksy’s tweets:
And with grand irony I choose them to preface my dipping my toes once again in this blog. Ironic that I was even on Twitter, which I so rarely even look at, and also that I should choose to mention yet again my near obsession with privacy since I teeter-totter on that thin wire between jumping off into the sea of oblivion and pulling back the curtain and offering up all, my words, my images, all that I am… like undergarments pinned on a clothesline on a windy day, glorious, simple, slightly tattered, unapologetic.
A private life is not necessarily a happy one, surely Banksy knows that, although a happy life does need a private space. We must retain the power to choose what we share, and when, and with whom. That’s all. Choice nearly always equals freedom.
So privacy and fears en minuscule and dreams and actions bolded.
There are things I want to record, to remember, and I’ve yet to find a way to do so, at least habitually, and concretely, other than in this space, my little clothesline, so here we go… Merry, merry, happy, happy todays and tomorrows, one and all. I’ll be back soon. (I think.)