It was two years ago tomorrow that the desultory, ill-considered, (a)periodic phenomenon you know hold in your hands made its original debut.

Letters to an Unknown Audience was born from the idea that what spurs the imagination, above all, is a curious artifact (!) (!) (!) (!) (!). The author of the present column, yours truly, was in the habit of admiring the thoroughness with which various denizens of this world wide web were presenting their large and small thoughts. So many of these wonderful items were so sharply cut from their raw stones that I was oftentimes inspired to carry on over this muddy planet, just by witnessing some small act of their precision. These people were making things, everyday; and I got to laugh, think, respond, go melancholy, and trip out at their phantasias (! ! ! !).

In those days I often asked myself, Why lift a finger? Why write, or draw, or code?

I have been studying how I may compare

This prison where I live unto the world;

And for because the world is populous,

And here is not a creature but myself,

I cannot do it.

................

Nor I, nor any man that but man is,

With nothing shall be pleased till he be eased

With being nothing

(The music plays)

Music do I hear.

Ha, ha; keep time! How sour sweet music is

When time is broke and no proportion kept.

So it is in the music of men's lives.

—Richard II

Why write? Because! You are listening!

My Unknown, for your ears, for your reading, for your tears, much thanks. I still swear, if you were here, the sky would be richer.

LUA was born from a desire to pass on the inspiration I drew from these strangers; to inspire you, in turn, my dear. And presently, I shall return to that pursuit.