Yes, I'm practiced at talking into the void. It's not a fact I'm particularly proud of, but the need for self-expression has always exceeded all else, even when no one's been listening.
I was on Livejournal, and when that tanked, I found solace in Tumblr. I had a blog on Myspace into which I poured real thoughts! Needed to be seen and heard, distinguished from the masses, not just another pretty twentysomething, but one with fifty cent words and the applicable life experience of someone twice my age.
Got onto Twitter early enough to go by my first name; the 140 character constraint appealed to my innate sense for, or need of, minimalism. Look at it now.
I've become practiced at the short form. Sometimes my sentences become so stripped back that they disintegrate. Like what happens when you stare at a thing too long. Pure abstraction. Look at the words and they silently implode, lose all meaning.
Beyond the spareness of a few felt words, I often forget who I am, what my stories are, what is true, which wisdoms are really so necessary as to compel pen to paper. And yet I write, in dire hope that the immateriality of it all, always so pressing in my head, isn't completely lost to the wind.