And this is spectacle, and I am spectacle (not that I am all that spectacular), but the web invites this, the revelation, the intermeshing of the public and the private, and the reduced boundary between the two.

It also invites us to enmesh ourselves further in the essay, to go closer, to click and dive into another.

And maybe this is it, the new art for our times, nonfiction, especially with the intense personal slant of memoir: what could be truer than the truth? And who can blame us for wanting something more solid to hold in this era of doctored photographs and video, leaked sex tapes and hacked cell phones. There is desire, and there is us, and there is this.