here i stand, i can blog no other

Looking back at what I’ve written in this space I see: cyclical depression, self-pity, snap judgments, juvenile sarcasm, biased reporting, overextended metaphor, bile & bitterness, ephemera, the occasional well-turned phrase, the more occasional successfully humorous paragraph, and the even more occasional good short essay. I’d say “If you don’t like that mix you shouldn’t read this”, but that’s pretty obvious; if you don’t like that mix you aren’t reading anyone’s weblog anyhow.

For my own sake and others I should probably say “goodbye my internet friends forever” at this point and stop, but I’m compulsive, so that’s not happening.

I was a consistently good writer when I had a deadline and got paid for my work. LJ is a sketchbook where I can dump words and rearrange them and play around without getting it perfect and trying to sell it, but it’s ‘also a broadcast medium where anyone who happens by can read it and judge me by it. The combination of these things makes me look like even more of a self-indulgent dick on the Internet than I’m capable of in person; I’m Dorian Grey but my portrait is out in public. I offend or piss off several people a week now, and they’re usually right.

When I look closely at my work, follow a few style rules, and think twice about everything I can turn out decent chunks of prose and get less hate mail. But it’s easier just to dump my id into the funnel and keep moving.

I bet if I ever get loose of this crapload of neuroses, illnesses, brain malfunctions, and life blockage this thing gets burnt like a teenage diary.

16 thoughts on “here i stand, i can blog no other

  1. For my own sake and others I should probably say “goodbye my internet friends forever” at this point and stop, but I’m compulsive, so that’s not happening.
    And the ‘occasional’ nature of your turns of phrase, entertaining witticisms, paragraphical drollery and good essays is very much in the eye of the beholder, I might add. I seem to see a little more[*] of it than you have today.
    Just stay away from occasional verse and we’ll all be fine. 8^)

    [*] I mean less. No, more. Erm.. [Child process died: Multiple negative feedback loop caused by Schrodinger referent.]

    1. Just stay away from occasional verse and we’ll all be fine.
      Amen. My blessedly few lapses into poetry were not a contribution to the art. Internet Poetry Rule, etc.

  2. “Cure” and “free of” and ideas like that are just big shucks. Cheats, fakes. Non possumus. Designed only to get you to believe the lie that you’re doing dramatically worse than most people. Once you believe that you’ll buy the brooklyn bridge on the installment plan.
    Freud said that the purpose of psychoanalysis was to transform hysterical, paralyzing misery into common, everyday unhappiness. We’re all wounded teenagers, putting one bloody foot in front of the other, gnawed every two seconds by ravenous pterodactyls, and we will be nothing more than that until the day we die. Then the ice weasels come.
    Except for rich people, but that’s a lottery we lost already. Comes the revolution I’m going to be right in there tearing out paris hilton’s giblets with my fingernails, but until then, oh, well.

    1. If you have time and the opportunity to blog, you are rich.
      No matter what your day-to-day frustrations are, pretty much all of us are in the top 10% or even 1% of world income.

  3. The way I see it is…
    I take it for granted that LJ exists for me to belch out slop. Anything good is a grave error on my part.
    I mean, fuck, if I were to write anything purposefully good, I’d certainly not post it here, where it could be so easily stolen without a good case for copyright.
    Oh, and if anybody does steal anything– yes, I’m talking to you, world– rest assured that I’ll sue yo bitch ass!

  4. Oh puhleeze, more likely you’ll print it and bind it.
    We love it, we hate it, we love it, we hate it, I hate you, don’t leave me, I hate you, don’t leave me, my mother, my father, my mother, my father.
    And blah blah blah.
    Your journal is a good mix. I dig it – and I can read it for free! 🙂

  5. Ha, when what this entry did for me is convince me to friend you. I keep seeing your name around on various friends’ journals (, , and more), or your comments, whatever. So I’m signing up for some bile & bitterness, some ephemera, the occasionally well-turned phrase, and especially the overextended metaphor. I don’t believe one can overextend a metaphor. But I’ll enjoy it if you prove me wrong.
    If you feel moved to return the friending favor, please do so.

  6. What do you estimate your readership at? You think you have reader problems? The other day, I typed into mine some junk that probably got written in my sleep, inclding the name Eugina. I don’t even know any one name Eugina, but what do you know, the next day some guy and his muscular dog stopped at my lawn, and when I asked him the dog’s name, he said Eugene. Thank for the present, Eugene. And you know, I don’t even have a stinking blog.

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