Yo Daily Post Was No Help Today

Did I mention my goal of two hundred posts before the end of the year? That means I’ve got like fifty left, so I think I’ll just throw a few one sentence posts up here for good measure.

Man, I was at fifty views today, and then I did the daily post and it somehow got messed up because nobody’s responses were coming up. I think if it had shown up on the website, even though it was pretty bad, I can’t even remember what I said but it was short and off the cuff, if it had shown up I could have maybe gotten 75 views and I’d be three quarters to my goal of a hundred views in a day by the end of the week.

Whatever, time to diversify my visibility strategy anyway.

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86 Whiskey, Sub Vodka

It is Sunday night. I just finished work and Wife has to stay up and finish her paper. So that means I get to stay up writing, too! Sweet. Plus I got a glass full of ice and vodka. Ran out of whiskey yesterday.

My new blogging goal, oh by the way I’m setting goals now mother fuckers what you know about that, is one hundred views in a day. One hundred views shit kazam blam that’s some crazy shit. I’ll be looking like the pied piper of blogging out here.

Hell yeah man but fuck all the dumb shit, a hundred views in a day by the end of this week and I’m about to hit my two hundredth post on this blog, two years in. A year and ten months anyway. I got big plans for December. I’m about to drop all kinds of dumb ass posts on this blog. I’m going to be a word generating machine.

Nah but fuck it. Earlier today I was feeling dumb as hell, just sitting in bed and staring at the computer. I was thinking to myself, shit, man, some people blog about how to write. I blog about how I don’t write. I write about pretty much the opposite shit of successful bloggers.

I get on here and write about my neurosis and and moroseness like it’s some shit to be proud of. Hell yeah that’s what I do. Fuck it.

Man but anyway, I don’t even know what to talk about these days. I never do. I’m trying to write something so I have something to market. That’s some dumb shit right there. But anyway we’re all going to die soon enough, no use pretending like we’re going somewhere important.

Anyone’s Ghost Two Point Motherfucking Oh, Bitches

Yo it’s blog update time in this bitch. Things are wildin’ out of control around here. I got 171 unique visitors to the blog this month, which beats my best month ever (February 2013), which only had 74! God damn! That’s some crazy shit! And it’s all because of the Daily Post I suspect. That and my shout out to Richard Feynman. Apparently a lot of people are looking for that motherfucker.

I’m about to change the theme of the blog, not thematically, but the WordPress theme I mean. I don’t get as many likes as I want and it’s either because a lot of people don’t like this shit (which is a-ok) or it’s because you have to open the post in it’s own page to even like or comment. So I’m going to try to get rid of that shit. It’s not ideal because I really like the way this theme looks, but I am writing a lot so things just keep getting pushed down and no one can read my old posts any more and there are some good ones. Ah most of them are a bunch of bullshit. So I thought about just making a new page with links to the three good ones but then I stopped thinking about that.

I might do that later.

I’m just curious how the theme change will affect the number of likes I get, etc. I don’t get a lot of follows from those Daily Post readers. Anybody who would take time to click on random blogs in Daily Post I guess they aren’t hard up for shit to read. What the fucking ever.

Just Need 8 People to Look at This, Thanks

Ah sheeit tonight had a good night, and now about to go to bed and in six hours or so I will get up and go my ass to Cape Cod. GF and I are going there for just a couple days to chill and celebrate her graduating from culinary school. If the weather is nice, I’ve got a ring and I’m going to propose. Pretty nervous about doing that. I feel like I should do some hot air balloon count of Monte Cristo type shit but I’m just not really that kind of guy and despite all girls being into the big romantic gesture even though they say they’re not, well I guess maybe she’s really not, or anyway I just don’t want it to get cheesy, especially since we’ve been together for seven years. Anyway she really liked Jim and Pam from the office and how he proposed at the gas station in the rain, so maybe something weird will happen like that.

But anyway I didn’t start on here to talk about that. Truthfully I got on here to post something so that I would get a reasonable amount of views today and finish out the stat week strong. If I can get at least eight views today I can finish with an average of ten views this week, and that will make me feel more like a real success in life, or some bullshit, I really don’t understand how I put so much stock into getting ten views when a real blog gets a million or whatever, and when really what is a view, and why is that shit like an endorphin creator. But there you have it, I just wanted to post something so people will look at so I will have a ten view per day average for the week.

I have always liked numbers in a weird way, like stats and how many times I’ve played a song in my iTunes database. I don’t know.

Anyway at the bar tonight it was pretty fucking crazy, but me and my partner handled that shit and made some good money. The worst thing is that I made more this week than I ever have in a week, but I made less last week than I have in a long time, so my two week paycheck will look about even and not reflect that I had a kick ass week.

Oh well, fuck it. I need to watch The Cosmos again, or just plain Cosmos, whatever that Carl Sagan shit is. That’s some real shit. But anyway have a nice couple of days without me.

You Can Hear it with a Different Kind of Ear

Ain’t it funny when you discover that he wasn’t really where it’s at?

Ah shit, I’ve had too much to drink and it was so nice outside today, and this morning I posted about calories and got more views than I got in months, and almost beat my record, which isn’t so impressive really anyway, but fuck you for thinking that, you bastards.

But anyway, fuck the microverse, I’m going to eat fried chicken and lose the robots in the wake of a thousand dumb experiments, and conceal the whole thing in a grocery bag made for two.

Seriously, though, in the end we’re all just paper-mache that your little brother brought back in the Winnebago that he bought in Canada for a half penny and a smile and a proper donut, the kind with the several light speed dynamos that were illegal in that time of the month for ladies of your stature. And then, like Lot’s daughters, you realized the folly of your ways and sucked the dicks of angels, and tried for the life of you to get rid of your tuberculosis cough, and in the end you switched internet providers and called it a night. A cold, hapless night where the reindeer bayed at your front door and left you nasty messes, and ate the chains from your porch swing, and forever grounded your soul.

And then Tupac came to town and really felt what he was saying, and once in a while, well, the fort Breys windy what ankle trapezoids came through and swept the Oscars.

My Plant is Getting Weird

I’m just chilling up in the office after work. I got home and GF was already asleep even though it’s only 11:45 or so, but she has to wake up at five or something like that. Usually I get home and walk in the room and she wakes up and she wants me to come to be bed right away but tonight she was out.

So I poured some Puffins and ate that shit up and my stomach is churning and my hands are shaking and my eyes are blinking uncontrollably and I don’t really know what the fuck is wrong with me. I had two beers and a few glasses of wine on my break but I didn’t think it would fuck me up for the whole night. Maybe I drank too much milk.

But anyway, I’m just in here chilling, listening to some Sade to put me in the cool, and I turn and look at this plant that’s been chilling here in the office ever since we moved and holy fuck it’s growing. I mean that bitch has it’s arm sticking out all crazy like and weird white shit coming out of it all tendril like. Shit’s scary than a motherfucker.

And I was even going to write anything in this bitch. Yesterday was my first zero view day in a couple weeks and that shit got me depressed. Sometimes I get on these kicks where I check that shit every day, but it’s not really worth it to do that, but I just can’t stop myself. And so I was like fuck it I’m not going to write anything, but then that plant came out of the corner and I didn’t have anybody to tell it to, so fuck it.

when plants attack

 

Here’s a picture of it. It’s in a weird looking pot.

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.

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.