Greetings (and My Dilemma)

I'm sort of torn on this whole thing.
See, I have this distrust of the state of communication in the world right now. Really in the last several years. It all comes down to my faith in the analog medium to represent everything. The friends of mine who know about all of this are very accommodating to me and my ravings.
It comes down to this. Communication -and I mean real, meaningful, authentic communication- was never intended to consist of ones and zeros. I hate what advancement has done to communication. I find it acceptable to spend an hour on the phone with someone who lives ten minutes from me. I send e-mails to people who need encouragement or patience or an apology when I have the opportunity to go barely out of my way and end up across a table from them, sharing a couch, whatever. I converse without the opportunity to reach across from me and make physical contact at the moments when it should punctuate what's being said. Because this is part of who I am, and because I hate it about myself, I am very reluctant to publish on the internet things that are personal to me, things that I feel belong in the context of personal contact.
On the other hand, I can have a deeply affecting encounter with -to give one example- Leo Tolstoy, who's been dead for 95 years this November, and all because I have his words at my disposal, and words mean something. People in literary circles talk about the "death of the author," meaning the disappearance or very infrequent emergence of an author's personality, beliefs, etc. in a literary work. There is no such thing. An author can't hide behind his work without leaving traces of himself any more than I can hide a fish in my closet without the secret eventually coming out. Tolstoy shows up in his fiction, his theological reconstructions, and his polemics against organized religion and hypocrisy. Whether I love him for his warm descriptions of love, cry over his portrayal of grace, or grieve at his incomplete understanding of the gospel, Leo Tolstoy has achieved immortality, and all because words have meaning.
So what does this all have to do with me.blogspot.com? Well, back to my dilemma. So much of me rails against the idea of everything about this. There is no need for all of the weeping emo kids who seek some cathartic purging and release by having the six people who read their Myspace cry with them after the next breakup. It makes me sad to see that people can type instead of apologize. Or forgive. Or change. This is the culture responsible for the death -or at least the thorough maiming- of spelling, grammar, coherence, and the process of putting thought through fingers to words and well-communicated ideas. I hate everything about it.
And yet...
I say I want to publish my writing. I say I want an audience. I want to look back and know that I've left something bigger than myself. And, like it or not, in the same way that royalty gave way to patrons, patrons to merchants, merchants to publishing houses, and then vanity press started taking a larger hold on the market, this whole idea of publishing globally and instantaneously, despite the juvenile results in its juvenile stages, is actually worth my time. I don't care about being famous. But those with an audience have changed the world over and over, and the word is the catalyst. So I can bury it all in the mean time, or I can get it out there before my earth-shattering debut masterwork is in physical book form. :)
I could have just said, "I used to loathe blogs, now I just dislike them and have found the appeal to outweigh the repulsion." It would have been pithier, and, come to think of it, probably better writing, brevity being the soul of wit and all. But when have I failed to waste more of my readers' time than strictly necessary?
Anyway, hi. You can read things here if you want. Leave a message.
Beep.