Coffee and Children Don’t Mix

Daily Post: Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to.

Hey man. You’re ten. What the hell do you know about anything? Just stay that way. Ten year olds don’t need to think about this kind of bs. Don’t know what bs is? What the hell are we doing in a coffee shop then?

Who’s paying for this? I ain’t buying you a coffee, you ain’t got no money thanks to the fact your mom made you buy back all the clothes you left in the floor last week with that pile of quarters you saved by cleaning the bathroom every week. And I ain’t got no money because I spent it all when I was eighteen on eating at Ruby Tuesday’s and a big red car with a stupid oversized muffler. And besides you don’t even drink coffee.

Damn sure your parents don’t want you to be here anyway. Most challenging thing you’re going to do before you turn thirty is not kill yourself for life insurance money. You know what’s rewarding about that? That’s about right, not a goddamn thing. Certainly not going to coffee shops and meeting with little bastards like you.

Most fun thing you have to look forward to is all the times you’ll remember being six, that was fun right? Yeah well don’t tell me about it because by the time you’re my age you’ll remember it as the glory days and there’s no point in you reminding me that it was just as much a kick in the dick as the rest of existence.

Daily Post

How I Feel After Reading the Works of Chris Guillebeau

I’m having a bit of a psychological debate with my psyche. Have you ever done this before? I have done this many times:

I get the idea that I should make progress toward a goal.

I go read some motivational shit online.

I get excited for ten minutes.

I spend three hours reading posts about how to do better in life.

I wonder why the fuck everyone seems to know everyone in this motivational blogging business.

I criticize myself for being cynical.

I fantasize about giving motivational talks about how I changed my life and became financially independent through writing.

I write a few paragraphs about my goals in life, but they’re really about what happened today.

I stop and say, “Shit! I spent all day reading about how to write myself to financial independence and all I’ve written is some shit about sitting on a bench in the park and anyway all of these fuckers know each other and suck each other’s dicks.”

Then I feel terrible again because they seem like nice people who are happy to know other nice people.

One time i attacked this guy with a blog post. I had zero followers and commented on no one’s posts. It wasn’t that I didn’t think anyone would see it, but I just didn’t give it much thought at all I guess. He was striving to inspire people with his life goal of being a dentist and how he was going to reach it and he was the president of his class or something and always had something positive to say. And I went on his website after one of these motivational blog reading benders and he was just this nobody with a thousand followers or something who was just doing his best to inspire people and create positive change in the world and I just couldn’t believe this mother fucker had any readership because to me the shit was lame and terribly written. And I was like fuck it, I’m going to make my name tearing these motherfuckers down. It’s what I do best.

So I wrote a post about how fucking stupid his site was and no one saw it. And then an hour later my blog had 30 views, which was 30 + infinity times more than my average readership and this guy responded to my post that his life coach or something had told him he would have haters and that’s how he knew he was doing the right thing or some shit. Well, I felt pretty bad because the poor bastard was obviously a good person and making a more positive impact on the world than I was or am and I still hated that mother fucker for making cliches even more cliche than they already are and now the mother fucker had seen me say that I hated his ass all over the internet for no good reason. Just found this mother fucker out of nowhere. I still remember his name, the bastard, he’s probably the head dentist at We Fix African Kids’ Problems Dot Org. God damn it.

But yeah I wish that mother fucker well, I really do. He deserves to be happy, that fuck, because he is a nice person. I knew he was a nice person even when I was trashing his work. When he commented on my shit I hit him back and asked him how to do some technical shit on my blog because I knew he couldn’t resist telling me. Mother fucker wasn’t even mad, I knew he wouldn’t be.

At the same time, I was impressed by how many hits I had accumulated in like five seconds. That shit was a big deal to me then, and truthfully that shit is a big fucking deal to me now. Fucking hell, I get three hits in a day and I’m dancing on ceilings. And that’s how Chris Guillebeau drew me into the god damn inspiring ass manifesto reading tornado this time. He was talking about not letting your up and down days (in the stats) affect your mood so much and how he can’t help doing it even though he tries not to. And he was saying his self worth is interlaced with how much shit he gets done and he doesn’t know if that’s the right way to do life but that’s how he works so fuck it. And I thought that shit was useful as hell so I read all of his shit and he was even talking about this lame ass phone game he was playing that he got addicted to and how he thought about making life like that video game. It was some Clash of Clans type shit but the game consumed his life for a week and he had to uninstall it, just like me.

But god mother fucking dammit these mother fuckers are so close knit and I don’t know why that pisses me off. Of course they would be, they’re like minded people at the top of their profession. Ah fuck, I’m just full of darkness that I won’t let go of. That’s why I read all that shit they write, because I know it’s right and I should do it.

I was getting to the point I was thinking fuck it I’m going to use my real name and cut out the cursing so my parents won’t be scandalized and I’ll just be clean cut and write funny, inspiring shit and I won’t have to go wait tables any more. Sometimes I want people to cut the shit and just fucking tell people we’re all fuck ups, waiters and shit. It’s a fucking tragedy to see the personalities that get swallowed up in this profession. Some of us are only a couple steps down from Louis CK, the kind of comedic talent we got. Some of us are only a few steps down from Sartre with our philosophical meanderings and writing and shit. Some of us are great interpretive dancers but no one even knows the greats of that bastard art so they get fucked just like the rest of us ‘almosts.’ And there we all go looking stupid all night taking orders and bringing down the house with our cynical charm.

And then you have meetings. Mother fucking meetings before dinner starts and the lifers tell you they’ve been doing this a long time and it takes skill to do and it’s a worthwhile profession. They tell you that we’re creating peace around the world, that we’re a part of what’s right in the world. And they mean it, they’re not bullshitting, they feel that way and they want to make sure we’re not all going to jump off a bridge somewhere because we’re rich enough not to struggle and smart enough to know we shouldn’t be wasting our lives knowing the difference between a serviette and a napkin.

Yeah so I was thinking I’ll use my real identity. I’ll own up to some shit, and cover up the rest. I’ll tweet and connect and reach out. I’ll write a book and I’ll sell it and I’ll retire to Bedlam.

Fuck that. But I meant to end this on a positive note. Well, shit, I’ve still got half a bottle of Evan Williams and the wolves aren’t at my door yet.

New Site Design AKA I Don’t Know How to Put Images On My Blog

Well shit I tried to just add a button on the side to raise awareness about Rarasaur’s predicament but I couldn’t figure that shit out so I just changed the whole goddamn site. Fuck it.

Anyway I don’t have a god damned dime to give them mofuckers. You know she tried to raise some money and eighteen hours in she had raised ten dollars. Man that’s some tragic shit. God damn. I’m going to give them some money. I was like, shit, you know, them bitches need love and support, I’m going to write them a letter. Them bitches got mad love and support as far as I can see, I wonder if they got any money yet. Shit. I’m going to give them bitches some money.

But not right now god damn it. But so far I’m not the worst person in the world because at least I came back in this bitch and tried to raise some awareness. Alright alright I am the worst person in the world, but so are you.

Anyway, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing on here because I had to pick the wife up from the subway station and ran my ass out there and was drunk off a homemade cocktail and half a beer and now she is brushing her hair and heating up Chinese food and I have to get the hell out of here.

But I had a lot to say you know. Shit. Now none of it’s going to get said.

Anyway, fuck, at least I got something done on this mother fucker.

But anyway fuck it.

The Thrill Is Still Gone

Blog stats have flat lined.

Damn it.

And the worse they get, the more fiendishly I check them.

How did it come to this?

In my other blog attempts, I would have been happy with two followers as long as one of them was someone I didn’t know. Now I have thirty followers but if I don’t get a new like every hour I’m a sad panda.

In the beginning, I was writing more than I ever had. Just pushing out posts. Then, as I realized how much interesting content was already out there, I followed more and more blogs. Still, I don’t follow as many as most bloggers. But I spend a lot of time reading now, way more than at the beginning, which, let’s keep it in perspective, was only about a month ago. And even more time than that…well ok not really more time but certainly an unhealthy amount of time is spent checking my stats. Seeing what people searched for to get here.

With all that I haven’t been writing near as much.

On the positive side I have been getting out more. Doing more stuff.

And I am trying to remember that Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And the more I think about that, the more I think, what am I trying to build?

The harsh and shameful truth about my mentality is that in the back of my mind, no matter how therapeutic and lovely this blogging experience has been, I’ve been thinking, how can I make enough money doing this so I don’t ever have to leave the house again?

It’s hard for me to be honest about this, because I’d like to think I do things just for the pleasure of doing them. That I blog for the beauty of the connections I’ve made with other minds.

I forget if I mentioned it in another post, or if I wrote it by hand in my super luxurious leather bound diary, but I feel more and more like I am many people. Each of me inhabiting me at different times. I don’t think I have multiple personality disorder, which would be more interesting, but rather, it’s just a way of conceptualizing or grasping the different ways I feel from day to day, sometimes hour to hour.

So one part of me, or one person of me, one person I am…shit, what’s a good way to say it? I don’t know. I’ll name them. Fred. Damn it. That’s another thing, I don’t really like the name Gordon Flanders and I don’t really like the name Fred. But they both just came to me. I should pick a bad ass name like Black Elk. Or Crazy Horse. But Crazy Horse is too awesome for anyone but Crazy Horse so I can’t use that one.

Insecure Money Bastard. That’s what I’ll name that one me. The me that gets worried I’ll never have enough money to pay off my debts and the same one that wants to just stay home all the time and never go to work. I’ll name that me Jerry.

Nah this will get too confusing.

Anyway there’s always that part of me in the background saying, “How can you turn this into a ‘tribe’? How can you turn this into money?” A bunch of buzzword bullshit.

The worst part is no matter how many lessons I learn or insightful things people tell me, I can’t shake this bastard. And so I think, shit if I had 10,000 followers I could just write a book of me just saying whatever came into my mind and sell it for a dollar and I’d have $10,000.

And that’s why I check the stats every day.

Or maybe just one of the reasons. Another reason is it feels really good to have someone ‘like’ your post.

Yeah I think that feeling has more to do with it.

I am chemically dependent on ‘like’ endorphins.

At the same time I still would like to just do this instead of having a job.

A friend once told me that I was still young enough to think I could get rich without working really hard for it. I think I am slowly getting too old to think that.

The problem is I do work really hard when I’m at work, at manual labor type shit. But it’s very easy to be mentally lazy. To zone out and just do your job and get through.

I remember thinking last week that even while I folded napkins I should make it so that I was like a napkin folding artist. Then yesterday I remember thinking, I’m going to be a getting through the workday artist. Fuck folding napkins like an artist, I’m just going to get through the day on autopilot and that’s how I’m going to earn my money.

Well, a few days ago I decided I would never make money from writing. I decided to give up on making money at writing and just do it for the sheer pleasure of writing. Then I thought I should get a part time job during the day to make money, and then invest that money to make more money. I’ve known all along that writing stories is a bad way to make money, and anyway I haven’t written any stories and that’s an even worse way to make money. So I got pretty excited about finally giving up on it. I love giving up on things, it brings such a peace. At first anyway, or maybe it’s just a peace in disguise. Maybe it’s a little death. When you finally give up on everything, you can transcend this world and exist as an indistinguishable part of the all-soul in complete tranquility, or what humans call not having a pulse any more. Hm sometimes it’s pretty tempting.

Yes and then the very next day, I saw that the restaurant put me on a lunch shift where I usually work a night shift. So I thought, well that’s going to be hard to reconcile with the new part time job, if I’m not on a set schedule every week. And then I thought, because I was thinking at first about what Seth Godin said about the days of the journeyman writer being over, or in other words that only the greatest of writers will get paid, the ones that persist through insurmountable odds and such, and the rest of us will just do it for free because it’s so available now that no one really has to pay for words…okay I’ll restart that sentence. So as I thought about the days of the journeymen writers being over, I thought, well what about David Gaughran and Dean Weasley Smith. They make at least a little money from selling their books. I could eventually make enough money to at least account for what I would be making at a part time job.

So then I was back on the “I can make money writing” train.

And I’m still on it. Because it works perfectly with my new “Rome wasn’t built in a day” kick. Who cares if I don’t make any money at it this year or the next or the next? In ten years I’m bound to make a few hundred a month at it. You just can’t do it that long and fuck it up.

This is the kind of writing I love to do. Just writing down whatever comes in my head and having people actually read it is a dream come true.

To an extent, writing a story or a well researched essay is a craft. If you work hard at it, you can make a product that someone will pay a little money for. And even though I’d rather just sit here and write random bullshit all day, I guess I’d rather work at writing that kind of stuff than work at another coffee shop.

Then again, I was reading this book today about women and guns and it was talking about how this one lawyer works for free to defend women who have been charged with using a gun against an attacker unlawfully. And I thought, shit I’d like to do that. I never once thought about becoming a lawyer, but GF is in grad school, fuck it, maybe I will too.

Yeah I pretty much got it all figured.

Liebster Award

Matticus was kind enough to nominate me for my first blogging award. It’s kind of cheating because anyone can be nominated for a Liebster award. And what’s more, people MUST be nominated, since you need to nominate a number of other blogs just to accept the award. I found someone who accepted the award  in an “honorary” fashion, so that she wouldn’t have to do the work associated with it. I thought that was smart, but I wanted to play along a little bit and also show my gratitude to my blog friend for thinking of me. And after all it is the first award I’ve won, so that’s special. So I’ve decided not to pass along the award, but I will answer the questions.

1. If you were a knight, what would your knightly name be?

Sir Charlamagne-de-Copenhagen

2. What is your quest?  (What is the purpose of your blog?  What do you write?  What do you get out of it?)

I started it in a moment of boredom and said Fuck it. That’s basically my quest in life, to fuck it.

3. What is your favorite color?  (Seriously just asking about your favorite color.)


4. What is the average airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?  (This is sort of a bonus question – Google or Wikipedia might be able to help.  I will accept an answer for either the African or European variety.)

Six billion cubits per milli-eon for African Swallows, while all European Swallows will not take flight if unladen. You have to know these things…

5. What is your favorite Monty Python movie or sketch?  And why?  (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge…)

Roman Guard: Crucifixion! Nasty eh?

Old Man: Not so bad.

Not so bad? Crucifixion is the worst punishment imaginable! What could be worse? (paraphrase)

Well, could be stabbed.

Stabbed? It’s over in a second! Crucifixion takes hours! It’s slow, painful torture!

Well, at least you’re out in the fresh air.

… You’re WEIRD.

From Life of Brian. Because of John Cleese pronunciation of “weird.”

6. How much do you hate lists?  (You can answer this question any way you like: comparison, a picture representation, with a list, a number on a scale (out of 5 out of 10 out of 42), etc…)

A list killed my grandfather’s hound dog, who was much beloved by all.

7. If you were a woodchuck, how much wood would you chuck?  (See question 6 for suggestions on acceptable answers.)

Fuck chuckin’ I’d take a nap instead.

8. If you could be any character from TV or film, who would you be and why?  (Moe from the Simpsons so you could own your own bar?  Princess Leia from Star Wars because she looks good and knows how to fight?  Or Beatrix A Kiddo from Kill Bill for that matter?  Indiana Jones because he is awesome? etc…)

Jack Sparrow, duh.

Stat Junkie

It was clear that these people were swingers of some kind, sodomites up from L.A. for the weekend. There was talk of orgies and flogging, and also of calling the baby sitter and getting back in time for the Rams game. One of the women asked me what I thought about Ed Meese, the new attorney general.

“He’ll get you,” I said. “You’ll all be in jail before long.”

She backed away and stared at me. “What are you?” she muttered, “Some kind of creep?”

“I am the night manager of the O’Farrell Theatre,” I said, “the Carnegie Hall of public sex in America. I am the final authority on these things. I know the face of decadence.”

Hunter Thompson wrote that in October of 1985. In his early days, he would type whole manuscripts of great writers just to see what it felt like to write those words. The Great Gatsby and I think some Hemingway, but I might be wrong about that. It feels good to write those words. Especially, “I know the face of decadence.” And, “He’ll get you.” I don’t know why this is funny, I guess because I can just see him walking up to these cats in front the elevator in the middle of the night, and they’re asking him about Ed Meese, who he no doubt knows all about, being a politics junkie, and he tells them he’s the night manager of O’Farrell Theatre, for no reason at all.

When I read Thompson I like to listen to Bob Dylan. He liked Dylan and so do I. He was a self proclaimed politics junkie. He said following politics and being a part of it was a rush better than sex. A habit worse than heroin.

I found I have a problem, too. I’m turning into a stat junkie. I check my stats all the time to see how many people have looked at my blog since I was last here. Sometimes I just write a post lately so people will look at it and like it. That’s not a road I want to go down. I want this to be about more than stats. Although I do love cataloguing and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. And maybe stat checking has something akin to that. But I’m running out of things to write about because I’m not putting more things into my head because I’m trying to get home and read the new comments and check the new stats and so on. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it, nothing drastic. I guess I’m just going to make an effort to read more and take more stuff in and all that. Live in the moment and whatnot.

Ohio Won’t Remember Me

Well I’ll be damned. Ya’ll are some irascible mother fuckers. God damn I love you crazy bastards.

And I use irascible in the street sense of course. Which means cool as shit.

Well I had myself a time writing that essay, and a better time reading your comments.

And there is just so much shit that I want to say right now, and I won’t get any of it done I know. Because it’s about Midnight and Ohio won’t remember shit. AKA GF is almost ready for bed and I still haven’t showered.

I wanted to talk about what I just ate and how damned good it was. And the work day with coworker. The coworker from the other posts. Everything turned out hunkey dorey with that red faced dude. Man, I like him actually. And I wanted to talk about how I been looking at Seth Godin all wrong. I been straight up talking a lot about that dude, in fact he’s about to rival Chuck Klosterman for most talked about dude on Anyone’s Ghost. But all my memories of what Seth Godin is talking about are all skewed because I read them like three or more years ago and I’m a whole different dude these days. And I wanted to talk about…something else too what was it. Oh how I totally lied to my coworker and he loved me for it.

In a perfect world I’ll have some time to write tomorrow. But the world ain’t perfect so we’ll just have to see.

But ho damn I just ate the most luxurious shit. Just walked through the door and had some roast duck and some squash soup GF made in class. Then I had some banana bread GF made at home. And I drank some Harpoon Winter Warmer. I feel so warm on the inside.

Public Consumption

Readability Index: To blazes with this index as it’s not doing shit for anybody.

Sounds like this post is going to be about tuberculosis. But what I’m talking about is also a kind of disease that I’ve come to recognize, first in myself and now in the blogging world at large.

Me and people like me, we are scared that people won’t want to read our shit. We are pretty sure they won’t want to. We are also nice and we don’t want to waste people’s time. So we try to warn people not to read our shit.

This could end up being the subject of my first essay as a part of my new project.

I was just looking at pricklymooseprincess’s blog…I think I got that right, but can’t look it up because time is running out and anyway I’ll come back and do all the proper research before posting to my new blog…which I haven’t decided yet how to handle…but anyway her tagline says, “This will not enrich your life.” It was a very familiar sentiment to me, because I could have used it for my own blog. I thought before I started blogging that all this amateur feelings driven diary type bullshit was meaningless to everyone. I wouldn’t want to read someone else’s bullshit so why would they want to read mine?

Seth Godin calls these kinds of blogs “Cat Blogs” because you basically tell long stories about your cat and have pictures and people are just as bored by that as they are by you in real life. He says these blogs add little value to the world. And maybe he’s right, he’s pretty fucking smart. And he has the most viewed blog anywhere, or he did two years ago when I was reading his posts every day.

So you think, well shit I’m going to go ahead and throw up some words on a blog and tell everyone not to read them, that way they can’t blame me when they find out that I can’t write for shit, that I have nothing interesting to say to anyone. That’s what I thought when I started.

But there I was reading pricklymooseprincess’s blog and I thought, well god damn, this shit has enriched my life. Who would have thought?

And hers is definitely not the only blog that I have found this to be true about.

For my essay I’ll give specifics, but just to get a general idea…well when I look for new blogs to read I just type in “Random Bullshit” or “Rambling” or “Not fit for public consumption” and there are lots of blogs to choose from. Everyone is hedging, they want people to read their writing and be moved by it, but they think that this is a lot harder than it is. I think so even now as I type and imply that it isn’t. Because maybe it isn’t.

So anyway you got a guy who fancies himself a writer but has never published anything because he doesn’t think it’s good enough. And then he can just get on a blog and hit publish all day and no one can stop him. But he still says every time, well this shit’s no good, but if you want to waste your time reading it…well I won’t stop you.

Next thing you know people are liking that shit. Now this doesn’t always happen because a lot of writers will hit publish and then never go around reading other people’s shit. I did that a few times before I made this blog and no one has looked at those blogs to this day. So in order to have people connect to what you write, you have to at least make an effort to connect to what they’re writing. And personally I didn’t think it would be worth my time to do that, since I already knew my blog wasn’t worth anyone’s time, and I held a deep seated belief that even though my work was crap I was a better writer than most people. Even authors who have been published. So this arrogance and this self-loathing…or work-loathing leads to isolation. No one does look at your work and you’re proved right all along.

But it’s crazy. I had some free time and I started this blog and said fuck it I’m just going to write whatever dumb shit comes to mind and I don’t care what Seth Godin says. And forget all the advice I’ve read about blogging and capturing audiences and creating tribes and all that shit. Fuck that shit. Fuck making money on this…fuck everything. And then after I wrote it I decided fuck it, I bet I can get some people to read this dumb shit. So I went out and to get some comments going on and to like some stuff purely so people would come back and read my shit. But when I got out there on the blogosphere suddenly I found myself engaged in these other writers. Then I really did like what they wrote. Then I decided to comment the same way I was blogging. I’ll just say whatever comes to mind, no matter how dumb it is, no matter how uncool it might seem. And bam, what the fuck, here I am with some real shit going on. My whole outlook on blogging and even life has changed to a degree. And definitely my idea of writing.

So anyway, I have to go to this god damn super bowl party now. But I’ll be back tomorrow to further explore this idea this thing I’m trying to get at. And to call out some people who seem to be going through what I was, too.

Hot damn. Blogging is the shit.

What I’ve Learned So Far About Blogging and Life

Readability Index: Unreadable Due to Length

Alright what I’m going to try to do here is create a unique field theory…I mean a unified field theory of blogging by me. A unified field theory of my life and what blogging means to it. What has writing this blog done to me over the last week and how can I make it useful to my life. How can I enjoy it more fully. How can I do something…how can I feel good about it.

Well, like the first time I started blogging on this mother fucker, I’ve got The National keyed up. Playing “Anyone’s Ghost” over and over again. Great song. I can lose myself in the rhythm of it.

Sometimes I feel like cursing and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel nice and sometimes I’m itchy. Someone just called me. I hate phones because they interrupt everything. People are mad at me all the time because I don’t pick up my phone. But I can’t plan for that shit. I don’t know how they made it back in the day with regular phones just ringing all the time and you couldn’t even see who was calling. Screening your calls meant listening to the answering machine.

But that’s all beside the point of course.

I washed the dishes and ate another muffin. I should eat again before I go to work. I was thinking I should enjoy work and stop dreading leaving the house, but that’s just part of me, dreading leaving the house, I can have as much fun as I want when I get out there but the next day I’ll be dreading it all over again. Much like taking a shower.

I still feel like this blog is a kind of fleeting addiction. I have them all the time. Sometimes I’m really into drawing, or basketball, or wine, or…well anything. The one activity I have done throughout my life is writing. So maybe that bodes well for the blog. Because this is a good kind of writing. A kind of writing that motivates me to keep writing. I really like just spitting out my thoughts. And the craziest thing about it is that people read it. It’s there for people to read, like a well dressed pamphlet fluttering down a busy street, but unlike the pamphlet that gets stomped on and waved away and stuck to car bumpers, this blog gets read by people from all over the world. They take time to read the words that came straight out of my head, without any revision or intense labor over them. It’s crazy to me that people like to read that much. Now I like to read that much, but I never thought that so many other people did. It’s the difference between knowing something and feeling it, is something I always say. I know that people are like me, but I don’t feel it.

But along with the addiction idea, is the feeling that perhaps this isn’t healthy. Perhaps I should be going outside and running around, or cleaning the house, or getting a part time job, or toiling away at writing a novel. This is just a part of how I feel about everything except actual paid by the hour work, the feeling that I should be doing something else, that I could be doing something more productive at that moment. The times I snap out of this feeling are usually when I consider that some people don’t have any time or any choice of what they do at any time of the day. A man with no lets can’t decide to cut his toenails, and a starving child can’t decide whether to eat coconut almond muffins or just skip lunch. So that usually gets me focused back on the crazy thing about my life which is that I have the world available to me, as unfair as that may be to other people.

And I use the word crazy too much. It’s kind of a catch all for things I don’t understand or can’t grasp, as well as something I aspire to, like ‘damn that dude is crazy!’

So I don’t want to feel like this is an addiction. Something I think about all the time, that I can’t wait to get back to, that I’m unhappy if I’m not doing it…unless I do want to feel like that. Isaac Asimov felt like that about writing fiction and I’ve always admired him. A lot of people say about writers: “If you can’t not write, then you’re a writer.” I’ve always replied, “well I guess I’m not a writer because I could sleep all day, wake up drink and watch Downton Abbey reruns and I won’t be worried about a damn bit of writing.” Writing is usually something I do because I’m good at it and I like it. Not because I need it. But maybe being addicted to this blog will be like needing to write, which would then put me in the company of great writers, which would then perhaps make me a great writer.

The most wonderful thing about this blog, and I mean wonderful in the truly literal sense as in it creates within my mind a great sense of…wonder…is that I have been able to in some way make at least one person’s life a little more interesting. It’s really weird, actually, to have the effect on someone through writing. I like to think that I make people’s lives better in general when I know them, because I’m hardworking and nice and charming; but it’s super weird to think that my writing has affected someone I don’t know outside of the written word relationship of blogging. Of course I’ve always known that that was what writing is all about, but I didn’t feel it. And when I say feel and know, of course they are happening in the same place, in the mind with the chemicals and neural pathways and all that, I’m really differentiating between theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge. In theory writing is communication with other minds…but I’ve never before felt the practical application of that knowledge. Just had to make a note for those Ayn Rand types who would laugh at my use of the word “feel.” Ah see, sometimes I worry about impressions for long periods of time without even realizing it. Then again, you can’t say you’re not thinking about the impression you’re making if you’re writing for people to look at it. You’re writing expressly to create an impression, whether in your own mind or someone else’s. What I don’t want to do at least on this blog is to worry that I’m making the wrong impression. Because as I’ve stated before I spend most of m life doing that.

The practical uses of this blog, and by that what I mean to say (or meantersay, as Joe Gargery would say) is the uses of the blog that I would be happy with even if no one ever saw it, are numerous. Being namely that words look pretty on this blog, my thoughts are organized with tags and categories, and even while I’m typing this information is being saved on the internet so that even if my computer should spontaneously combust, I would not lose any of this. So those are good things. Before I started blogging I would write this kind of random bullshit gibberish, but I would save it on a Word document. I would lose all those with my computer. Also with this infinite display of the articles in reverse chronological order, I can more easily reread these posts than I can read all those word documents that are separated and whatnot.

Hm yes but what is the overall idea. What is the purpose? Of course, we all know how I feel about the purpose of life. Since we’re doomed it really doesn’t matter what we do. Except that we can’t. But that’s a load of horseshit.

What then is the difference between bullshit and horseshit?

I do want to create something of value. And I do love writing in this extemporaneous style. Revisions have always been a bitch to me. I have always thought of art as revision, controlling the impression you’re making on people. And that’s well and good. You can’t have a wonderful novel like Freedom without revision. You can’t have an awesome movie like Spartacus without editing. Hm but maybe you can have an incredible novel like On the Road if you practice writing a lot a lot and fill your head jam packed with experiences and information and then sit down at your computer with a gallon of coffee and type for a week straight.

Maybe I will write something in the vein of On the Road, with a Hunter S Thompson slant, with a subject that is truth, that is not fictitious. I will be like Chuck Klosterman, perhaps. The more I blog the more I like that mother fucker and I never once really thought about it before, except right after I got done reading Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I’d pretty much forgotten about him until it came up while I was commenting on someone else’s blog and now I find myself quoting him a lot. And what he does is pretty cool. He talks about the world we live in in a funny way. And an insightful way. I bet I could do something like that at least 10 percent as good as him if I really worked at it.

I think my style of writing is pretty engaging. If I were to talk about something people cared about, I think at least some people would find that worthwhile. Hrmph well…shit

To Like or Not to Like

Readability Index: Readable

Last night GF was laying on my chest so I couldn’t write any more. But I was reading blogs and liking the ones I liked. I typed in “rambling” and read whatever looked interesting. And I found quite a few that I liked. Some I wanted to comment on, but I couldn’t type, so I just liked.

Liking is a weird thing because it’s a way to say that you’ve been there and acknowledge the blogger’s effort and even that you enjoyed the post, but at the same time, if you like too much, you can be seen as parading around trying to get people to look at your blog. Nothing will bring more one time visitors to your blog then just going out and liking a hundred blogs that don’t already have a thousand likes. Nothing besides being freshly pressed or being number one in the google results for ‘sex’ or something like that. It’s all because of those emails that say maybe you’ll like their blog as much as they liked yours! I like that WordPress is trying to get everyone to interact, because that’s what I like about blogging. But sometimes I wonder if I should like so much stuff.

But that’s the censor in me, or maybe it’s the ego, or they are the same thing I don’t know, but it’s that thing that worries about the impression you are making. And I started in this blog game just a week ago to get rid of that bastard. Worrying about the impression you make on people is something I do all day in the real world. I’m pretty good at it, which means then that I have a lot of things about myself that I repress, or simply hide from view, to use a phrase less fraught with psychosomatic meaning. I always liked the word psychosomatic but I don’t exactly know what it means. So anyway…just an observation. I’ll keep liking whatever I want, which is of course the general good advice given to those people who write the kinds of posts that talk about liking. I read quite a few of them yesterday.