Time drips away, so intensely slow . . .
History will yet judge whether Soul Reaver's diary has the staying power of Pepys's, but keep in mind his doesn't exactly start out with a bang either. Both may be diarists, but they're working in entirely different forms the older one essentially literary, the newer something closer to performance art. Which isn't to say that the canonic literary diarists the Sylvia Plaths, Anne Franks, Ana s Nins haven't keenly felt the presence of potential readers even as they wrote, or that their rawest moments of self-exposure have been any less raw for want of a DSL connection. But in its ample gap between the moment of expression and the moment of publication, the printed diary has long nurtured a guarded sort of public privacy the classic writerly subjectivity of modernist myth. Four out of five media theorists will tell you, of course, that this is a cultural disaster.