Crosses to Bear, Ducks in a Row, Marshall Your Inner-McLuhan

Metaphors strike me.  I try not to overuse them, but they do come in handy at times to succinctly convey a more elaborate point.

Take, for example, the Bloomsday Device.  I mean the entire thing: every post of each of the four blogs I manage (The Device, The Epiphany, The Manifesto, and O'Ghoulihy with his breakaway republic of Clevelandia), as well as the YouTube channel that bears the same name.  That is the near sum total of what I have in mind when I say, "Welcome to the Bloomsday Device."

But the Bloomsday Device is also, in fact, a metaphor.  It is shorthand for my externalized consciousness, realized.  It contains trifling details, sublime works of art, legal analysis, cultural artifacts, political commentary, personal philosophy, mystical insights, social criticism, satire, stupidity, and much more.  Just like the contents of my head since I was a child, except electrified and digitized.  I actually consider it a part of me now.

Perhaps its a sort of self-actuated psychotherapy, or group counseling for one. I don't exactly know how to describe it's impact on my mental state, other than to say I know it's there and that reassures me. You may judge me mad, but, at least, I don't sit around the dinner table talking with mannequins, for Christsake.

Another simple answer involves posterity: maybe I just want this stuff out there so someone, somewhere, knew I was here. A sort of existential road map for future travelers.

In any case, you are welcome to it.  Perhaps, someday, I'll be welcome to yours.

Happy Birthday: Me 'n Declan McManus

For those playing along at home...

The Bloomsday Device welcomes you. When future archeologists dig deep within the electronic synapses to divine its origins, they might find that The Device was set in motion by this sacred text:

Then again, they might not.