In This Case, at this time: Whatever I feel like
Current mood: cooky/wacky
I decided just now that I wanted to write a blog and to make it a tad different from my other, earlier ones-especially considering that most them were just unfinished stories of mine. But today I want to try something different, a writing experiment if you will. I could make this thing an example of literary free verse or even stream-of-consciousness or something like that. I never liked the idea of a blog-at least, not one that was like a daily web log, a journal or diary or something. I mean, after all, I did write an essay on the subject of quotidian writing last year-of course, unless I post it here or on Facebook, no one will ever probably see it. But that is nothing to lament! That piece on quotidian or even diurnal writing is kind of a rambling, repetitive, unstructured, inchoate, sprawling, insane piece of crap! It is just a rant or something-nothing more; except, of course, that it, too, is an experiment, a literary experiment of sorts. Just as this is going to be; regardless of the use of fragment sentences, run-on sentences and other ungrammatical things. Sometimes I think I could be a very good comedian, especially for improvisation, for I can think often very quickly and could tell a story that would hopefully captivate an audience, even if it was only an audience of one, for a long time; I have a lot of stories-real and fake, true and false, fiction and nonfiction, novel and autobiographical-locked up in my mind (just as I don't doubt, anyone and everyone does, too), but then I have moments of nothingness. I mean, mental nothingness, like nothing passing in my brain. I don't know how to explain it-and, as it is not the source or subject of this particular blog o' mine, I will not attempt to (unlike last year, when my series of literary experiments included writing long, deep, tedious essays on the origin of certain of my thought-processes and lack thereof!) I can be very random, as some of the people who I know generally think of as assholes at the second Market Basket I worked at well know, for I have would some might dub an offbeat, random, abstruse and didactic sense of humor. Though that is not necessarily true. I would describe it as something quite different. Also, you will note that I do not, at least, in these, use proper indentation and paragraph separation, that my sentences and paragraphs all just run together, as or into some kind of rigid, massive block. I mention this only because I have nothing much to say at this time and am writing whatever comes to mind. I will not, of course, go so far as to tell anyone out there really deep, secret things that are known only to me and a select group-which I'm sorry does not, at present, include many of my Facebook or Myspace friends; even those of them that I do actually know! It might be a good idea to put up a smiley face now, right here: :) I can't help but wonder what the spatial requirements are on a blog, for a blog. I mean, when will I run out of space? How many paragraphs, pages or volumes can a blog (especially a blog of mine) be? When am I (and everyone else for that matter, too) cut off? These questions and others like them have never entered my head before-until today. Today, I had musings of this sort-but so what? To be perfectly honest, and I know this is going to sound completely random; indeed the perfect nonsequitur, but: I really miss Jennifer, that sexy Asian girl who worked at the GNC in the plaza that housed Market Basket on Lafayette Road in Portsmouth, NH. Of course, that unbelievably pretty, hot, sexy girl no longer works there! By the way, she had a wondrous personality, a personality to match her outward gorgeous sexiness. It was always too bad, I thought ( I mean, once I learned of it; which was like the first day her and I met and talked; thought I had heard rumors of her well before that) that she had a boyfriend. Another bad thing, was that she had to tell me that like right away. I was interested in, even aroused terrifically by her, yes, but I didn't exactly show it, I didn't make it abundantly clear...yet she said that and mentioned her boyfriend, and I, at the very least wanted to be deaf-for that moment. There are other girls and yes many of them, most of them are, as Jennifer, sexy and Asian, that I miss, too. Like Brianna and Palema for instance. And no, those two should never be placed together in one sentence, or even one page. I mean, not to insult Bre or anything, but: Palema is way better than her, and it is an insult to Palema to even place her in the same sentence as Brianna. I know that some of the morons that I went to (not worked with, for it was more like a school-a high school-than a real, true, right workplace) Market Basket-the second one; No. 56: 1500 Lafayette Road, Portsmouth, NH-with might balk at some of this, but I really don't care! But like I said earlier, I should not be so personal herein, I should not turn this into some kind of confession, and the computer into some kind of confessional. No; truly this should not be as confessional as it is getting. But I'm just somewhere between "pouring my heart out" and "ranting/raving." This is a detergent process (by the way, did you know that that word-detergent-can be used as an adjective, too? That it, in fact is an adjective, too? Much like the little known adjectival uses of and forms for 'attic' and 'tonic' which most people only see, read, use and think of as nouns-much like detergent, but they are wrong!). I mean, this purging of at least my mind-and perhaps also, my soul and heart. I am writing shorter sentences than I normally do, because much like Faulkner or even James, I write fantastically long sentences. I mean, single sentences of a page long or longer, and my average is usually like 250 words anyway. So, I have to cut down, I have to save words and streamline sentences-and not use a styptic pencil to do either one...lol! Well, I could probably go on forever in this mode as insane and random as it is, but one, it is an experiment nothing more, and perhaps also the result of heavy boredom and nothing better to do, and two, my hand, my wrist hurts. I have typed been my threshold for today, and have I made any discoveries, written or discovered any revelations or hidden truths? No, I haven't! I just like to write-a lot; as anyone who knows me really well or has read even one of my seventy thousand writings, could tell. So, I think on account of reasons, facts like that, I will end this now. For, as I said somewhere at the beginning, or perhaps only in my head and heart (and soul), I do not want this, whatever this is, to turn into some sort of confession. It will not be confessional. I am not now nor have I ever been a Catholic-not, of course, that it even matters. Now, the rambling and ranting is done, and if I wasn't so enamored of writing, and wanting all my writings to be read and enjoyed for what they are, even if they are only log entries or letters, I would delete this whole thing, this whole insane mess. But I won't.
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