Serious Business

Keeping a blog... It's serious business. I keep on imagining myself spinning beautiful stories out into the world through this blog, but then I turn around and it's been months since anything was posted and I end up looking down the business end of a new post form, thinking to myself that everything looks somehow blanker than it was 15 minutes ago when I opened the damn thing up. At least when I opened it, that blank page was full of promise, but after all that time has passed, and the white background has soaked up all of my latent excitement, it's all that I can do to throw a bunch of words onto the page and pretend that they were what I've been thinking about all damn week.

That's right, you're witnessing extemporaneous blogging at its finest. It's not the way to go, you know? People who are much better than me spend time thinking about what they're going to write. They feel ways about stuff. And they prove it! To be fair, I feel ways too, but anytime I sit down and try to write about them I get off onto a string of bullshit. Some sanctimonious drivel. Some self serving tangent. Some fucking giant rant that when I sit down to read it later, I realize that it was only ever a vehicle for my big boy vocabulary. And I love those vehicles. They're fun. They let me stretch my legs. But they don't say anything. Those vehicles are for the private compound.

I don't ask the important questions. I can't even figure out what they are. Importance eludes me like Ali eluded jabs. I can't get it. What is the point of writing if you can't figure out what you're even writing ABOUT half the time?

What's with all this directed brilliance out there? Aren't blogs supposed to be about 15 year old girls and what they did on summer vacation or some shit? Who decided to make this serious business, anyway? Probably Neil Gaiman.

Fuck it, I'm going to sleep.