Not now, blog. I have a headache.

I often say that I am all over the Internet like a bad rash. This is because I am kind of s’nasty. I like to write though, and get up to No Good.

Ironically, I am tired of blogging, social media, the Internet, controversy, Uniqueness, Modernity, Retrophilia, and … just EVERYTHINGAAaaaaaaAAAAAGHGHGH!!!

I have created, to put it mildly, a SILLY amount of content in the past couple of years. I’m not talking about Official Content of a Professional Capacity. No, I’ve mostly just been working my ass off for myself and You – here to amuse and delight. Up until Radicchio in the morning trying to survive on this Amusing little bit of fun y’all call a planet.

To think of organizing this content is dizzying. To think of subjecting you folks to lists of what I’m going to do about it is nauseating. To analyze the sunniness of my tone as I ponder the NON-effectiveness of whining about my goals AGAIN makes my brain feel like butt candy. I don’t know what butt candy is, but it doesn’t sound very nice. Already, this blog is so terribly FLARG. But I have established a bit of Flow here in the form of a couple paragraphs…And it’s not in a list. So Splickets to you!

Anyway, all I know is that there is a lot in my head, and that’s the way the cookie gathers moss, my goblin friends. I know that I need quiet, and that it’s time to cut the distractions. I know that you have never heard this newsflasky, dizzying information from me before; that I know YOU know that I know that it’s time to start saying no. no, no no; no no no. (I said a)No, no, no no. no; no- na-no. (like in a successful commercial). None of this has anything to do with the price of bronzed monkey poo (#relevance!) at a bustling border town; but this is how Great Novels are Written.

So, what do you do when your blog is just not that into your silly ass? What do you do when you don’t FEEL like it?

Before, I have always done stuff like publish photos of my feet and Unidentified Flying Ceiling Fans. Then amidst these cunning distractions, I will place my Deep and Personal thoughts – hoping they go both expressed and unnoticed. Hoping I can be both validated and largely ignored. Really crossing my fingers that somehow I shall increase in social popularity without the need to reveal a shred of personal or actual information about myself. I think I’m living in a dream and I know I don’t want to wake up.

I erase half the things I would say now, just because I fear they are constantly being observed. Either that, or I have a cerebral salt shaker filled with hearty disclaimers. mmmmmm, delicious.

Why am I feeling so Mosquitolesquey? So acerbic and raw? It’s probably because I have been having the same identity crisis all over your nice upholstery for the past few years. I keep apologizing for this, but I don’t know why I am apologizing for weird and awkward behavior to The World At Large. How much am I really fouling up the room compared to the Elephant in it, making its messes?

There’s so much stuff I’ve learned! I’m dangerous now! We’re not meant to do this, not meant to do that. Spelling, grammar, metaphors, length, color, line, definition. Think first. No, get out there and make content. I’m real confused.

I have lived in my head all my life. I have kept myself free from a lot of cultural influence. A lot of the things that fly out of my mouth came from my actual brain. I am far, far from encyclopedic. This is because when I was meant to be paying attention to the work of other people, I was narcissistically making my own.

I like myself better. I trust myself more. I can rely upon myself to be interested in Me. I know that when I am dead, I will not care who my audience is. Someone else will have to manage those things. I am my audience now, and I have to live with what I make. If I do not thrill and amuse myself, I have to look inside my own brain when I fall asleep at night. It is I who have to interact with the characters and people that populate my world. And only I will remember who and what I want (most likely). And if I don’t get what I want in my real life, I can when I am writing, or sleeping, or refusing to pay attention to what IS so much that I make what CAN BE.

Perhaps, art is a delusion. A happy delusion. My sweet escape.

It is folly, probably, to distance myself from my audience in this way. I have been doing this with my music. I know I do it. This is why I have my side projects where I try more to do what I’m told. Because with my own music I’m throwing myself at my tools and I might make choices for my own reasons and I am thinking about the character and the story and what I wanted to say. I’m trying to make a Thing live. I’m not in a state of mind where I care about You-the-Consumer. You’ve got a world full of ready-made stuff to look at. I’m probably not going to interest you.

This is going to get me about 8 fans. This is going to make me zilch money. I am lucky I am getting better at cleaning the house (this is a lie. I am horrible at this but my baking improves!). I need to rethink the whole “no ads” thing. I don’t know. I don’t want to pour a nice refreshing Pepsi on my soul either…..

I have a lot to think about. Sifting through my brain is going to be like an octopus trying to put on socks, I imagine. I have a lot of personal decisions to make…

But I’m getting there. Messily, scandalously, perhaps even… but gettin’ there nonetheless … πŸ™‚

I really am not trying to grow up to be a curmudgeon… πŸ™‚

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Not now, blog. I have a headache.

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