You and I are here to cull through gossip and look for intrigue or maybe just 'get a good buy' -- and wind up merely saying 'goodbye'. And to sing.
Why is it worth our while to do this? If this is an electronic artifact for later on, how do we know it's worth anything? That we're worth anything?
Here's one take: I'm both best judge and worst judge. Worst, because I'm tied so very close and find importance in both the matter on which I write and the style in which it comes to be written. That precludes any response from anyone else. I suppose the fact that what I write is being written diaristicly and would not be bought even if it were for sale is a prima facie case that it is worth little, at least from our modern commercial perspective.
But best judge, I am, because I'm nearest the vibration of all the strings, I'm feeling all the nuances (sounded aloud or not) of the music that plays through my system. Only a solipsistic virtue, but not negligible.
In writing for the 'whoever', even though we're lost, we last.