Space. Not the "final frontier" type, but rather the chosen frontiers. That space in which I carry out my daily, weekly, monthy existence (if you can call it that).

My space is limited lately. That's not out of any necessity. It's not that I couldn't expand my space. I don't fear or feel any identifiable sense of discomfort when I'm away from "my space". It's just that I don't feel any need to move beyond this very small space.

These walls around me are those of a studio apartment on Seattle's First Hill neighborhood. Maybe I'll add a bit more about this physical space.

And then there's a certain web space I sometimes venture into. That recent war adventure somehow pushed me further back into the web spaces than I'd been going for years. It's not that the war impacted my physical space in any way. In a way, it was of no consequence. I didn't hear bombs dropping. I had no need to fear a WMD attack. It's not happening anywhere near me, but it does affect me. It's something we were doing even though I'm not at all sure it's anything I would have chosen to do in the same way. But there's that "we". What is the nature of that? Where is that space?

I'm aware of such things and choose to be in some way concerned about such things because I do reach beyond this small enclosure. I reach beyond with the web. I reach beyond with that TV set over there even though one-third of its image is not obsured by a slowly expanding black blob.

So those are some subjects for possible reflection.

And that's where we'll leave it. Reflections. I'll avoid biography for now. Let the reflections -- always imperfect, often distorted in odd ways -- reveal their subject.