here i stand, i can blog no other

[substitute]

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.

Comments

[springheel-jack.livejournal.com]

"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.

[springheel-jack.livejournal.com]

I blame Mr. Rogers, that pied piper of Prozac. One day I'll be privileged to spit on his grave.

[flipzagging.livejournal.com]

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.

[springheel-jack.livejournal.com]

By similar reasoning we're all poor - we denizens of the flat part of the income/wealth L-curve.

[flipzagging.livejournal.com]

This page (http://www.globalrichlist.com/how.html) has a graph of global income distribution in 2003.

[springheel-jack.livejournal.com]

http://www.lcurve.org/

It's interesting how all these curves have a similar shape - pretty flat, then shooting up.