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| The Black Girl |
| 03.24.04 (10:33 pm) [edit] |
So going back to the past did not go so well so here I am - trying to move forward with the present for the time being. I will try again to write what I need to write but for now I need to stay where I am so I can continue to breath.
I went to see a girl I know the other night at a R&B hiphop kind of bar. Her friend was playing in the band that night and she wanted me to come check them out. The band was fun and the people were cool. I had a few drinks and visited with her for awhile. The band was very good and I was inspired by the fact that there is so many different kinds of music to see and hear in this city. I feel like I have barely scratched the surface these last few months. She danced and I stood and drank - I don't care to dance but love to watch people who do it well. As I watched I found my attention being drawn to the right where a girl danced alone. She was wearing pink track pants and a tight pink tank top. She was black so she did not fit into C.K's jeans but she was so amazingly sexy I could not stop watching her body move. While mesmerized I noticed her notice me watching her and she started dancing for me from across the room. Every once in awhile she would give me one of those sideways little smiles from behind her hair. When the song stopped she sat and I walked over
to the bar for a fresh drink. As I pasted we exchanged smiles casually and that was the end of it. I had an early morning meeting so I bid farewell to my friend and went home.
Last night I was out on my own. Two of my best friends were out of town and my other friends were determined we were going to a dance club to get drunk and hit on girls. It was not appealing to me this night - all I wanted was good live music and didn't mind being alone. I hopped a few bars but didn't find anything really inspiring so I headed back to the R&B Hiphop bar I had been at the other night. I went in and ordered a drink. As I stood waiting for the band to start their set I noticed a really sexy girl across the room smiling at me - and realized it was the girl from the other night that danced for me. I smiled back and the little group of guys standing near her showed their disapproval to me by means of not so nice looks. One of the guys went over to her and bent down and said something to her and they both looked in my direction. She looked pissed at him and shoed him away.
The band started and she did not dance - I stood alone and watched waiting to see what was going to happen with this girl and the guys that seemed to think that even though they didn't know her they needed to protect her from me. I wasn't prepared to go over to her because I figured some shit would start - guys drinking and being assholes about skin color and who has what right to do what and who doesn't. As the set came to an end she got up and walked right over to me - she told me she recognized me from the other night and was hoping she would see me again. I told her I was glad to see her too but I thought I would like to leave - as I looked in the direction of the guys who wanted to possess her. She said that was a good idea but she was coming with me. This caught me off guard - I know forward girls but this was nothing I had seen before. I said nothing and started to the door - she followed and we left the bar without incident.
We got in my vehicle and she immediately lounged back in the leather seat and half turned half curled toward me and smiled. At this point I didn't even bother to ask her if she wanted to go back to my place - I just started the
engine and drove to my apt.
She didn't fit into C.K's jeans and she wasn't a girl I would want to date but I had sex with her. Part of it was I had never slept with a black girl - part of it was I needed to have sex (it'd been awhile) - part of it was my need to be close to a woman - any woman - and part of it was I was simply acting out a fantasy that most guys have about sleeping with a beautiful woman whose name they don't know.
In the morning I rolled over to touch her and she was gone. I was part relieved and part disappointed. I wanted to touch her dark velvety skin and be inside her once more before we parted but part of me felt the weight of being a guy who is not good at one night stands - not good at letting go - not good at casual sex - not good at dealing with the guilt that was plaguing me for being untrue to my memories.
I was glad we didn't exchange numbers - or names for that matter - and was wondering if she would show up at my door that night or any other. I decided I would abandon my apt. for awhile and go to my house uptown. I hate it there - it is so big and lonely and makes me think of a time that seems so long ago when I was with her. I drove by but I couldn't bring myself to stop. So I am back at my apt. and will deal with whoever shows up at the door and deal with whatever feelings I have to deal with if nobody shows up at the door. The ongoing emotional conflict is certainly tiring at best but I have my music and I can dream my little dreams.
Anonymous
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| Letting it play out |
| 03.18.04 (8:10 am) [edit] |
I woke this morning with an absolute desperate need to write. I don't know if it was my dreams - can't remember them at this point (thank god) - or if I have opened some gate to my emotional inners that cannot be shut just yet. I opened notepad and sat back in my chair and stared at the blinking cursor - nothing at all to write - but the buzzing of thoughts and feelings in my head will not subside. Most times I write I am amazed at how the words flow from my fingers to the screen -barely pausing to think or correct but today I am tortured by my block - all this shit is in there but I can't get it out. I think I know why - but I am afraid to face the fact - it is nearing the time that I have to write the story of her and what happened to her - to us. Of course that was the idea behind starting this whole thing in the first place - to explore and get it out of me and to maybe learn something in the process. The trouble is the more I think about actually telling that story the more unsure I become about this being a good idea in the first place - the fear that it might make me worse
not better - the fear that I will begin and not be able to finish - the fear that forcing myself to purge this in writing will push me to follow in my mother's footsteps - I can certainly see the method in my mother's choice -
she is with her true love now - with her daughter now - and with my angel for that matter - it is only me that was left behind - so I fear I will let this all make too much sense and want to right the wrong the gods have perpetrated on me!
But I have to let this play itself out - I am just so fucked up - I can't go on like this - something definitely has to break. So I will write the story - through tears and nausea - I will write the story! It will take some time I'm
sure so I may not post anything until I get through - if I can get through - if I can let this play out!!!!
anonymous
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| Laid out just so |
| 03.17.04 (6:22 pm) [edit] |
I met with my angel's father today for lunch. It was pretty intense. I know there is some blame quietly placed on my shoulders over the tragedy that befell her but nobody would actually come out and say something so awful. I haven't talked to any of her family for a couple of years so I was really nervous and upset and nostalgic and confused - I could keep going.
It was a good meeting - we both realized how much we missed each other and he told me I had better go and see her mother because she needs me and wants me
around to remind her.
He told me a story of when she was a little girl - they would go on driving trips around the country and whenever they stopped for fast food everyone would order whatever but she would only want chicken nuggets - nothing else would suffice. She would sit in the back of the car and carefully lay out her napkin on her lap and carefully lay the nuggets out side by side so they would cool. She would sit there quietly - in her own little world - eating her little nuggets dipping each one in the honey mustard sauce - oblivious to anything but her perfect little picnic.
That story made me cry - not at the restaurant but later -because it was such a perfect vision of her as a child and as an adult. I could vividly see her sitting in the car swinging one leg and eating her nuggets that were laid out just so. She was like that about many things in life - she would feel like an experience was ruined sometimes if it wasn't experienced just so. I think that is why she was such a terrifc lover - she worked so hard to make everything come out right - to come out just so. Whether we were making passionate gentle love or if we needed to just fuck like crazy animals - she would make it just so - without me even noticing until years later (now). To her the sheets on the bed were important - the music playing was important - the position she was in when she came was important - and if I failed to make her cum as I did occasionally - the way I held her afterwards was oh so important. I didn't have to learn these things about her though - I was born knowing them. We were true soul mates and would finish each other sentences - and as I realize now - both needed things to be laid out just so!
Anonymous
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| Tues. Night at the Horseshoe Tavern |
| 03.17.04 (7:50 am) [edit] |
I love live music - not concerts so to speak but bands in bars. This is a relatively new thing I have realized about myself - one of my hidden passions.
I try to get out a couple times a week for a night of causal drinks and a fun band. I have a couple of friends in the music industry - executives not performers who have started calling me up the last couple of months and wanting me to come with them to check out this band or that band. It is kind of neat to go out with these friends because most nights I can hear the excited whispers around me of anxious band faithfuls and friends because people from a record label are in the bar to see the band. I get included in this group because of the company I am with and it is a real ego boost to have people looking to you like you are some kind of god who can make or break their friends band. Of course I have nothing to do with the industry except for having a growing passion for live bar bands but most nights it is amusing at the very least.
Tues night at the Horseshoe Tavern was not a night like this. I was with only one and there wasn't that many people there when we arrived. He was determined to meet some girls as he always is so he started working his magic. As the place filled up he started chatting with a girl he liked. Ironically she was more interested in me. She was short with dark hair and very attractive. But he liked her and there was no way she would fit into C.K's jeans. She flirted with me causally - not in a really obvious way because she was sweet and realized he liked her - I think she was not sure about me - not sure if I was a good guy or a bad guy. I am not a mean guy but I did not want to give the wrong impression. She asked me what I did and I said I was unemployed. She looked into my eyes waiting for me to tell her I was kidding but I didn't - so she asked (in a joking manner) if I was independently wealthy. I kept a straight face and told her that I was and backed it up by telling her I had nearly 40 dollars on me. She laughed and I had to smile - I could not keep the game going. I realized that my method proved a poor choice because she now viewed me as confident and probably a little mysterious. I walked away and left her with him. He is a great and intense conversationalist so I knew they would be fine. I went to the bar to get a drink - went closer to the stage and watched the band play.
The music was so loud up close - I love that - isolation from everyone and in a crowded room. As I stood I could feel the presence of a person beside me that was not there earlier - out of the corner of my eye I could see it was a girl about 5'7 - 5'8 with blonde hair cut short. I was sure she could fit into C.K's jeans and her presence was light and relaxed. I couldn't tell if she was alone or with a guy and I refused to break my solitude and look in her direction. But as I peeked from the corner of my eye I began to believe that it was C.K. She seemed to be looking in my direction - maybe waiting to see how long I would take to see her beside me - or maybe she has a new love and is there with him, not realizing I am right beside her. Finally I had to look - what if it was her and she had looked me up. Of course it wasn't her. It was a girl that could not fit into C.K's jeans - although she was attractive with blond hair and a great body. I didn't smile or show interest - if she stood there because she liked the look of me then she had been unjustly judged I realize but I cannot make myself feel what I don't feel - so I will stay with my sweet C.K. I am safe in my obsession with C.K. - she is safe - she will never now me or want me and I think that is the reason I keep her so close - why I keep her as my dream right now.
I need a girl that drives me - I crave the butterfly's and the tingling in my chest when I see her - I need to be inspired and excited - I need to be able to keep dreaming my little dreams - I need my angel!!!
Anonymous
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| I drive through neighborhoods I do not live in. |
| 03.15.04 (8:47 pm) [edit] |
When I can not sleep I drive - I drive through neighborhoods I do not live in. The pounding of the music, the hiss of the rain soaked road under my tires and an overwhelming sense of deja vue often transports me to a time far gone from me now...
I am such a strong force - I am a hero when it comes to personal and emotional strength. Most look up to me because of my power - those who don't - envy me.
I have no issues. I am one of those people who can shrug it all off and go on no matter what - and I do and I am better for it. Nothing makes me mad and nothing really shakes me up - yet I am not one of them - the drones who have forgotten how to feel - if they ever knew how to in the first place. I am a lover and open with my feelings with the people I love - I do not have a hard time expressing my feelings - whether they seem manly or not. I am secure in the fact that I am a man and am not fearful of any expression I must display.
When my sister was killed I was not ashamed to cry. Two years later when I lost my father to a brain aneurism and shortly after my mother to suicide I did not hold back even in front of the cameras and mic's the vultures thrust at me - not caring an ounce for my pain - only interested in how the tragedy would sell.
It is not likely I will falter regardless of what life throws at me. It is I that says out loud to the controller's of fate - "Bring It!"
And indeed they did...
My angel squeals in delight at the realization that the old chest we found in the attic of the cottage is full of records. I finally broke the old lock off and she carefully sifted through - pulling each out and carefully examining it and even putting the record jacket of some up to her face to breath in the age and the memories - I could see in her eyes she was begging for the worn old jacket to tell her it's stories. The scratchy sound of Maria La O soon filled the cottage. I perch on the deck railing and sip the tart but wonderfully refreshing homemade lemonade she so carefully prepared earlier - she sits cross legged on the deck and just gazes up at me with that adorning look I am sometimes lucky enough to catch. She has the record jacket carefully pressed to her chest as if to hug it or make it understand it is safe now. Almost child like but so much a woman - I lose my breath for an instant as the sun lightly kisses her golden blond hair. She ask's me what I am thinking about and I smile - she reads me through my eyes and I need not speak - she stands up and leans back into my body and I put my arms around her and we sway softly to the music.
The record starts to skip and she giggles - I try to hold her tight but she wiggles free and teases me with a quick kiss on my neck. She says she has to start dinner and disappears to the clatter of the screen door.
Her mom called after dinner so I curled up on the swing and looked out at the lake while they chatted. She was so close to her mother - they talked every day without fail not matter what country we were in or how busy our lives were. I liked that her family was now my family as well. They accepted me and loved me like I had been part of them forever - even though we were not married
or even engaged yet. I was sad I had lost so much in my own family but this night I reflected on how lucky I really was - to have lost so much but been fortunate enough to gain so much with her and her family - most people never get to experience that the first time around...
At the red light the cd player clicked away switching the cd's and I reflected on the past to the gently pounding of the rain on the windshield and the swish of the wipers. I thought about how I had never looked at how much I had to lose - only how much I had - never how careful I should be - only how lucky I was.
Now here I was and my angel was gone - all I can do to keep myself going is to drive - so I drive - I drive through neighborhoods I do not live in...
Anonymous
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| Waking in a Dream |
| 03.15.04 (11:51 am) [edit] |
Waking in a Dream
Last night I had the most vivid dream of my past that I am still, hours later having trouble snapping back to the reality of the present. Sometimes one of the hardest things for me to live with is the fact that I am always going to have memories - no amount of strength or time will change that!
And I dream...
I awoke this morning at the cottage feeling like I was on top of the world. I really do have it all. She lay asleep beside me - wearing one of my white t-shirts as she often does. The t-shirt had ridden up in her sleep and I could just see the word "push" written in pink letters on the ass of her cute little white underwear - god she is a beautiful and sexy girl. I propped myself up on my elbow beside her and watched her sleep. I do this often -she is so at peace when she sleeps. I could not stop myself from touching her skin. I stroked her cheek and she smiled slightly in her sleep and mumbled something incomprehensible. "Sleep my angel" I whispered and she drifted away again.
I got up, showered and headed out onto the screened-in porch for my coffee and a couple puffs from a cigarette. The sun was so warm and a hint of mist was still burning off the lake. Sometimes perfect happiness frightens me. I am not a pessimist but am prepared for the balance in life - for the good there has to be bad to balance it out - or this is what I have found to be my experience. When she awoke she joined me on the porch and cuddled up against me on the swing chair we sat on. I loved being here with her - so far away from anyone and anything. We could make love all afternoon or just lie together under the huge sycamore tree in front of the cottage. My worries and the stresses of running my company were always a million miles away when I was here with her.
Today she wanted to shop for antiques in the surrounding towns. Not my favorite thing in the world to do but I did love the way her face came alive when she found something that she just had to have. I loved watching her eyes assessing me - wondering if I would object to buying it for her - the excitement in her face due to the chance that I might not say yes to her whim. I have never said no - and she knows that cost is never an issue with us but still she takes nothing for granted - always making sure I am o.k. with her purchase. She is innocent like that - never assuming that I won't object even after all these years. I think about how amazing it is that at 23 years old she is so mature in her thoughts and determination in life - but she has been able to stay as innocent as the day I met her years ago - never letting bitterness get in - never letting negative experiences ruin her. Her eyes shine always.
This day she found some kind of special green glass mug that was the last one she needed to complete a set she had been collecting over the past year.
The lady at the counter rang up her purchases for me while she browsed a bit more. The lady kept looking at her and then back to me. She was an odd type - I could tell she thought of herself as some sort of clairvoyant or fortune teller type - but that is what you expect way out here away from the city. She had a look of concern in her eyes and I looked at her questioningly. She said that she could tell we were meant to be together - the two of us kids. I smiled slightly but was very uncomfortable because her eyes said something different. My eyes pushed her to go on and she hesitated. I could see her eyes glass over with the threat of tears and I leaned closer. "She will be gone soon and we cannot change that! You must prepare" she whispered.
I felt like someone had hit me with a shovel in the stomach - I backed away and the regret in her eyes was heavy - but there was also the look of relief that she had gotten her warning across.
I walked over to my angel and taking her hand I led her out and into the car. She looked at me questioning but I did not speak. She knew I wouldn't speak unless I needed to so as we drove she just lay her head on my lap and caressed my leg softly.
When I woke up this morning it was like this memory was of yesterday - although almost 2 years ago - and I did cry for some time. She is certainly gone and there was no way I can change that. I hadn't thought about the warning I had received since that day - I had blocked it away from my memory - it had been lost in my pain and I have no explanation as to why it has resurfaced now.
I hate that these memories can be as vivid as if they were yesterday - time is supposed to heal - we, as humans are supposed to move on and experience new things - being rehabilitated by new experiences that strengthen us for the next hard time - but I keep returning to the past and having to start my journey over like some cruel circle.
Anonymous
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| noonespecial Blogs |
| 03.13.04 (11:33 am) [edit] |
No One Special
One of life's harsh realities that has been weighing on me lately is the realization I am, as a person, basically a sum of my experiences. My experiences in life have molded me - causing me to grow and change and become who I am. At first glance this sounds like a pretty great thing to be able to understand - but when I think about some of my experiences I realize I have to include bad experiences as well as good. "What doesn't kill you will make you stronger" is an expression I always paid little attention to until now. What doesn't kill you doesn't make you stronger - maybe harder - maybe colder but I doubt very much stronger. And it does kill you in a small way. Every time we have a really bad emotional experience we lose another little piece of our innocence. This forms part of us for the future and it is a unrepairable. All the talk of healing (I do it myself sometimes) is not possible because there is no going back really. We can feel better about life and move past things that hurt us but we cannot ever go back to where we were before such an incident. We can never be the exact person we were - we continue becoming who we will become.
I was browsing blogs this morning to try to see if I could find some writing about life rather than the usual daily entries by teenage girls about their boyfriends and school and who is a bitch this week (I sometimes browse when I have the need to write but can't come up with a topic) when I found a post by someone named "noonespecial""[url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]link [/url]". No idea if this blogger is a girl or boy - it
doesn't really matter - but the entry made me think about my bewilderment at the fact that most people I associate with and meet in life are not asking themselves any hard questions at all. Is it just easier to ignore knawing questions or do they really not have any.
"noonespecial""[url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]link [/url] wonders about the fact that we all have a different perspective - and why - which brings me back to my thought that our experiences make up who we are. We don't have much control over what will happen each day - and very little control over the emotional happenings in life due to the fact that so many other people are interacting with us all with their own experiences and perspectives built and formed along their own path. If you have read the "noonespecial""[url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]link [/url] log, I want it to make it clear I am in no way trying to answer the questions put forth by "noonespecial""[url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]link [/url] - but wondering along side about life and the different paths we go down and the relationship of these things to the different people and interactions we have along the way.
Of course I doubt "noonespecial""[url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]link [/url] will find many answers here - the one comment left was a really deep and forward thinking person saying "woah too much thinking aha"! Maybe turning commenting off will become a more popular choice.
anonymous
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| Manhattan Nights with Lavalife |
| 03.12.04 (3:52 pm) [edit] |
Manhattan Nights with Lavalife
I don't think I can remember a happier time in my life than when I was in Greenwich Village the last time. It was summer and the rain was breaking up the brutal 99 degree heat. We dashed from restaurant to bar. We drank and laughed and reminisced about the day that had flew by us like it was barely five minutes. On the way back to our apartment on 24th we didn't even bother to run. We walked and let the rain wet us - cool us and remind us that as hot as it can be it will always be our friend.
The apt. on 24th has a huge deck overlooking a pretty courtyard and I would spend hours out there at night just drinking beer and smoking Marlboro's with my feet on the cool iron railing. She would spend an hour on the phone with her mom most nights and then come out and sit with me - sharing my beer and cigarette. She loved to watch the smoke she exhaled curl up into the Manhattan night.
Now that she is gone I don't know how I feel about the apt. on 24th. I haven't been back - or back to Manhattan for that matter - but I guess I should go and see if there is anything there for me anymore. I can't spend my nights alone forever although it is certainly not all bad being alone with my thoughts and dreams.
Heard that Lavalife is the place to go if you are a lonely heart?? I had a look - the first girl I'm attracted to uses the name Manhattan something or other - of course she is stunning to look at. She is so beautiful. Face of an angel and a body that would definitely fit into C.K's jeans. She has that short bob of light hair I love so much - god I get stuck on certain things! I can't tell if she really is as beautiful as I am picturing her though because the picture is really bad quality. But I guess that is what it is all about though anyway - the picture - how beautiful is she and how beautiful am I. Are we attracted to each other. It probably won't go both ways. So I should send her my picture with a note saying if she likes my picture she should send me some more of her - hoping that if we do by some amazing coincidence find each other attractive we will also be compatible in person and in life. The reality is that the chances are almost zero - there are just too many little things that have to align that I don't see how any two people get together and become true soul mates. But maybe I am in one of my low moods and taking it all too serious. Or more likely I am just afraid she will look at my picture and not respond - that would ruin my fantasy that she fits into C.K's jeans perfectly and is the perfect woman for me - inner beauty and a personality that matches with me in so many ways. Her refusal to like me - to be attracted to me would crush the daydreams of her and I running in the rain in Greenwich or wrestling on the grass in central park on a bomby summer afternoon - so I keep quiet - I won't say a word - I will be satisfied with my dreams and notions and she will go on searching for something she likely won't find on Lavalife - continuing each day without knowledge of me.
It has started raining again - On my drive home today it was raining but I chose to take the tunnel into the city because it is a much longer route and I was enjoying the Mazzy Star cd I made - so I missed most of the rain. So I think I will drive for a few hours through neighborhoods I do not live in. - listening to music I love and dreaming my little dreams.
Anonymous
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| C.K's Jeans |
| 03.11.04 (5:47 pm) [edit] |
C.K's Jeans
C.K kissed my neck New Years Eve and that was it for me. It was an innocent kiss - not at all meant to be interpreted as anything more than the affection of a friend but that kiss changed everything for me. I know it was innocent on her part because she was a good friends girl - well sort of - he was always going on about how he didn't like her and how he was in hell having to be with her but really wanted the sex. So in actuality they were just sleeping together but I suspect she wanted more. It was heartbreaking!
C.K. is a girl that would stop most guys in their tracks - tall with long legs and an ass that I can't even put into words - she looks like her jeans were designed with her in mind. She has that blond bob haircut that has to be the best hair I have ever seen on a girl. Her skin glows and begs to be touched. She is one of those people that are so easy to be around - she always takes charge - but never makes anyone feel like she is taking over - she always has a smile and touches my arm when she speaks to me - she doesn't seem to mind when I don't have anything to say - she smells better than any person I have ever met - she shares a love of New York City with me that few girls I meet do - and I can't help thinking of her when I see that commercial for the Mitsubishi car where the little kid is waving to everyone unbeknownst to his parents in the front seat and the song "You have the most beautiful face is playing as they drift through the city.
But there are several things that trouble me about the whole C.K's jeans thing.
1. She was with a good friend of mine so I should think of her never in a romantic way -
and
2. She is too beautiful as a woman and as a person for me to ask for without feeling I am asking for way too much. Don't get me wrong - I am an attractive guy with a great personality - I am one of those guys who doesn't have movie star looks but does fall into the classification of attractive by most. I always seem to have a girlfriend that is at least 10 times better looking than I am - I'm usually blessed with the sweetest girl that all the other girls love and all the guys want to be with. I think a lot of that is due to who I am rather than how I look but she is just so much more than any of that - on another plane or something I guess.
Although my good friend lost interest and wandered off - I won't call or get in touch with her. I will keep her in my daydreams and dream of her calling me - because if she was interested in me she would have by now - she knows where to find me! She will be my yardstick though - I will judge girls I meet based on her because she is the perfect girl for me - she has the perfect physical makeup and a personality I love. Just thinking of her makes me warm inside and writing this entry about her makes me feel closer to her somehow - I guess the possibility that she could someday find this and read it makes it worth the effort - even though it is more likely I will get struck by lightening.
Maybe I will meet her again some day or maybe I will find a girl that fits into C.K's jeans but until then I will hold tight to her and drive through neighborhoods I do not live in - listening to music I love and dreaming my
little dreams.
Anonymous
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| Why I Fucking Hate Weblogs! |
| 03.10.04 (8:00 pm) [edit] |
Why I Fucking Hate Weblogs!
I guess I will start with how I ended up being a person who writes "blogs".
I had heard about them but didn't pay much attention. A short while back I was searching for something online and came across a search result that sounded almost diary-like and very private. I wasn't looking for anything even related to this result but could not help having a look.
As the next few days pasted I found myself thinking about this "blog" thing more and more and liking the idea. I decided to find out what it was all about and how you do it. I figured it would be liberating in some sense as well as a
good way to get out all the shit rollin' around in my head. Save my friends from ditching me because I've lost my mind.
I started searching around online to find out how you do this and who these people are who do all this "blogging". One of the first pages that came up in my search was "Why I Fucking Hate Weblogs!" Click on link to read essay.
http://mama.indstate.edu/user...
This is (in my opinion) a very intelligent and insightful look at the majority of the people behind blogs. It is a little harsh but I find I can identify myself in several categories that are discussed.
THE REVERSE VOYEUR. This person suffers from a serious personal attention debt. I think this probably accounts for the majority of weblog authors. Not so much an exhibitionist, they aren't making a spectacle of themselves in order to attract attention, no these people simply wish to be spied on intimately.(continues - see link above)
I fit somewhat into this category but I don't think it is the main driving force behind my writing.
THE EXHIBITIONIST. These people are genuinely out there trying to wiggle their junk in everyone's faces. They are ACTIVELY making a nuisance of themselves via their weblogs in order to draw attention. They rant about controversial topics and take the side most likely to produce the largest public outcry from their readers. (continues - see link above)
I don't fit here at all but I'm sure many bloggers do!
THE SELF-IMPORTANT MORON. These people honestly believe that they have 'listeners' who actually care what they think about the various topics they rant about in their weblogs. They believe that their opinions matter in the grand scheme of things. They are typically idealists who believe that one-person-can-make-a-dif ference bullshit applies to them personally or that they are somehow more enlightened than the rest of us schmucks. (continues - see link above)
This category describes me pretty good. I don't think it is the category I want to be associated with but what is the point of any of this if I am not honest with my number one reader - ME
THE OBSESSIVE-DELUSIONAL RANTER. These people can't turn it off. They fixate on everything and NEED to talk about it. These are the people you have to find an excuse to walk away from occasionally because they just fucking won't shut the hell up. They have an opinion on everything, whether they do or not. Often, their weblogs are unfocused, blindly-meandering, blatherfests that may start on one topic and end up passing through twenty new topics before finally ending in a non sequitur or some comment about a failed love affair two years ago. (continues - see link above)
I do not fit in this category at all but I am not done writing blogs yet so it would be unfair of me to say I have nothing in me from this category.
THE TOWN CRIER. This person uses weblogs to announce things. Typically, the Town Crier archetype doesn't really use weblogs for anything other than to let the void know about important events in his or her life. Anything worth
writing on a calendar is typically fair game; anniversaries, birthdays, kid's first tooth, new car purchase, new computer part, interesting event at work, etc. (continues - see link above)
I have no announcements at this time but if I do in the future I will try to come back to this post and edit this procumation that I do not fit into this category.
THE TRAGICALLY GEEK. This person is a depressing realization of all that is bad in the land of the nerd. They may be very powerful geeks in their own right, excellent programmers or scientists or mathematicians or philosophers, but they've lost their soul to the world of the geek and will probably never get it back. They live in front of a monitor, they follow the weblogs of friends and write their own weblogs because they realize their friends will
read theirs too, friends typically known by aliases like 'warzd00d' or 'Ph33rFr33k' or 'NoI am not a geek and don't do the online friend thing - pick up the phone and call your friend - it makes a lot more sense.
THE EGO STROKER. This weblogger is sortof a cross between a Reverse Voyeur and Self-Important Moron. A feeling of zero self-worth leads this weblogger to reach to the void for validation of their lives. In real life, this dumbass probably does the same thing to everyone they meet. They tell you about their day, they tell you about something they did, all in the hopes that you'll provide them with the sort of approval their Daddy never gave them. (continues - see link above)
I have to admit this is kind of the point of my becoming a blog writer. I don't fit perfectly in to this category though because in "real life" I am more of a listener than a talker. My online self fits well here though.
THE CROSSOVER POSTER. This weblogger isn't satisfied with just talking about THEIR stupid moronic opinions, they have to crosspost with someone ELSE's stupid moronic opinions, link to THEIR weblog and then create a weblog entry that regurgitates the other person's post, then expands on their personal feelings about the original post, what it means to them in the deepest most fluffy happy pathetic useless fucked-up places of their hearts. (continues - see link above)
I rarely ever read blogs - they are for the most part pointless drivel - some are very good of course but by the time I find one that is good I've run out of time and have to go do something else. So I don't bother.
THE ASPIRING WRITER. This weblogger is probably one or many of the other weblogger personality archetypes and is using the excuse that they are an aspiring writer to justify their meaningless drivel. They'll marvel at how wonderful it is to have a printing press in every home, or they'll talk about how their weblog helps validate their writing and builds writing skills, steadfastly ignoring the fact that they could do the exact same thing WITHOUT a weblog and not publicly. (continues - see link above)
I don't see any point in making excuses - and I have no intention of becoming a writer!
THE PEDANT (a subclassification of Self Important Moron). This weblogger is basically the same asshole/bitch you know that enjoys arguing about the stupidest, most minute details of whatever subject they are ranting about at
the time. They'll argue about usage rules for an English word or rant about how a senator wears his shoes. (continues - see link above)
I can be an asshole some times but even I can't stand these people - and I run into their type often in my daily life.
Like I wrote previously - I don't think I am lost forever! I think I am "rescue-able" and this weblog thing will help me find my way. Maybe it is a collosal waste of time and will help nothing and do nothing but annoy people like the writer of the essay but I guess time will tell.
So I need to add my Statement of Audience - and I don't think I can top the one already written in the essay so ----
My "statement of audience"
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I realize that nothing I say matters to anyone else on the entire planet. My opinions are useless and unfocused. I am an expert in nothing. I know nothing. I am confused about almost everything. I cannot, as an individual, ever possibly know everything, or even enough to make editorial commentary on the vast vast majority of things that exist in my world. This is a stupid document; it is meaningless drivel that I do not expect any of the several billion people on my planet to actually read. People who
do read my rambling, incoherent dumbfuckery are probably just as confused as I am, if not moreso, as they are looking to my sorry ass for an opinion when they should be outside playing Frisbee with their dog or screwing their life partner or getting a dog or getting a life partner. Anyone who actually takes the time to read my bullshit probably deserves to ingest my fucked up
and obviously mistaken opinions on whatever it is that I have written about.
Signed: Anonymous
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| The Girl Next Door |
| 03.09.04 (11:46 pm) [edit] |
I drive through the city a lot at night. I love being on my own with the radio so loud I can't possibly hear the incessant ring of my cell phone. I drive slowly through neighborhoods I do not live in. I look at the lost souls. There are so many in this city. Different kinds too - some are lost forever -they wear it heavy and accept it - some don't even know they are lost yet - some won't ever accept it and will continue with their sad and lonely lives.
I admit I am one of those lost soul now - hopefully if I embrace it and accept it I will get past it - dreaming that I am not lost forever.
The girl next door is a lost soul. She has it in her eyes. I have lived next to her for almost a decade and I know her eyes well although we rarely speak.
I know we think of "The Girl Next Door" as the blond haired blue eyed teenage vision of innocence but this is certainly not the case. I wonder sometimes what she thinks about when she analyses her life. She was not blessed with good looks or even an attractive body. Well into her 3rd decade in life and all alone with no-one to love her. I am so blessed to be at least somewhat of a triple threat - good looks - fit body - and a personality that causes most people to like me. I am no movie star just to clarify my statement that I have good looks - but more on that another day.
The girl next door seems lonely but she is not attractive so I do not approach - am I shallow - a bad person - someone who can't see the real person in her because of the standards society has convinced me to believe - yes all of the above are probably somewhat true but are any of us really interested in someone we are not attracted to. Do the unfortunate over weight and unattractive people really think the people they are with are unattractive - I doubt it or they wouldn't be together. So we all fall into the same group somewhat.
The girl next door is a lost soul. She has it in her eyes. I haved lived next to her for almost a decade and I know her eyes well although we rarely speak.
I can smell the wonderful aroma's of her kitchen daily. I wonder if her mother taught her to cook. I wonder what her mother thought about where she would be in the future - or did she even have a mother???
I think of my mother’s kitchen as a child - I didn't get to learn much about cooking there but many other things that molded me into who I am. Guests from afar and people of many cultures were in and out bringing gifts of raw sugar cane and stories of amazing adventures. Does the girl next door have rich memories of her childhood journey or is she a lost soul because she missed that whole thing. Every lost soul has a story. Why and how - most don't know how to tell theirs - others refuse to - and some try but fail. I am the resuce-able lost soul. I will tell my story - probably few will listen - even fewer will care and this is o.k. But I will tell my story - it will be in pieces - it will wander off track a lot but the story will be there and I will be found in the end - I hope.
The girl next door is a lost soul. She has it in her eyes. I have lived next to her for almost a decade and I know her eyes well although we rarely speak.
Till next time
Anonymous
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| SFW |
| 03.08.04 (10:29 pm) [edit] |
So F***in' What!!!
So I guess I need something to say. Tomorrow I will start.
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