Direction?

I sit here wondering which direction I should take.  I find the thousands of independent media blogs useful but I wont begin to assume I can contribute to the hoards of "link and quote" mongers out there.  Simply sharing my life would be dull, even to my friends.  I lean towards literature but there is plenty of that as well.  I know nothing.  My experience requires more experience.  The last thing we need is poorly structured rants from an idealistic man.  I suppose I could try and shock but we already have that on every channel.  Where should I go?  Other than what they want to hear, what do people want to hear?

Comments

[William]

I would advise striking out on your own. Ignore the ignorant masses and persue with all dilligence that which is truly noble and beautiful in this world. Expound upon the vagaries and tribulations of this fetered existence. Enlighten, envelop and through un-restrained discourse seek to convey that most essential of truths...Humanity.
Or if thats too much work just make up some wild stories like you partied in the Carribien with Motley Crue and you had all these great pictures but Tommy Lee poured Jack on the camera and now all thats left are memories.

[Lucas]

Actually it was just south of Patagonia on a small desolate island where our Arctic flight crashed that Motley Crue decided to light up the band. Who would have known that Tommy was interested in the rapid dissaperance of the worlds ice caps and was heading down there to take deep core samples for an upcoming album cover. The pictures were brilliant but the penguins down there are far more powerful then we give them credit and alas the film was lost in a man v.s. flightless bird battle that shook the frozen tundra to it core.

[Will]

Howling wind rakes the glacier with merciless efficiency. Driving forth ice and snow in a slurry of abrasive agony. A small band of humanity, dark specks against the frozen wastes, huddles around the crumpled and twisted remains of what had been a mid size passenger jet. Oily smoke plumes forth as the remaining JP3 consumes itself in a final act of defiance to the bone numbing chill. The few survivors of transcontinental flight# NE146D9 stare bleakly at the blasted landscape. Fate and some unexpected ice buildup has delt them a cruel hand indeed. A double flame out just south of patagonia and the resulting plunge to terra firma leaves only a computer programer from the NorthWest, his wife, and a rag tag group of musicians the only survivors.
Hours pass in the way that time does when hope is lost. The wind which had been so fierce has finally relented and an eerie silence descended, puncuated by the groan of cooling metal and the occasional cough. A lanky sullen looking man with a prominent nose and inky black hair strides back and forth amongst the wreckag muttering to himself. His leather pants creak angrily in the biting cold as he peers anxiously through the smoldering remains. The programer and his wife sit beside the fusilage huddled under the tattered and chared remains of a blanket. Slightly apart sit the remaining members of the band similarly attempting to ward away the noon day freeze.
With a shout of triumph the man stalking the wreckage bends down to sieze a battered black object. He yanks it from the snow and tucks it under an arm as he starts back toward the others. The huddled survivors look on as he tosses it to the ground between them. "Well I found it, but I think it's dead" he announces to those assembled.
"It's the box, you found the black box" the programer responds with rising excitement.
"yea but the lite's out. I don't think it survived the crash."
The programer leaves the shelter of the blanket to examine the box more carefully.
"You may be right and if you are that means that the homing beacon is out so....."
the programer trails off as the obvious consequences settle into all their minds. He stands for a moment and reaches for a cigarette from his shirt pocket. As his hand closes over the pack his eyes widen and he darts his hand into the inside of his coat instead. Pulling forth a leatherman tool he bends toward the box and anxiously begins turning it over.
"I may be able to fix it. After all it's only a basic transmitter and power supply along with a data recorder. This kind of thing is what I do for a living. Wireless networking is essentially this on a more complicated scale."
"Well then have at it man. We've got nothing to lose and unless we get some help..." This time it was the musicians turn to trail off. No one was prepared to say it, not yet.
As the programer begins removing the retaining screws his wife now alone in the blanket produces a camera and begins taking pictures. Several of the photos center on her husband as he curses and fiddles with the device before him. Followed by shots of the various band members and wreckage. As she turns her attention toward the stretching glacier she is the first to notice the penguins.
.............TO BE CONTINUED