the hope

foolish as it seems, i still have my dreams... and the hope that all these words, thouands of pages (many thousands, actually)... writing an average of an hour a day for more than a decade (with some days skipped and other days lived in the words from waking to sleeping) writing and sending these words, these messages in bottles out on to the cyber seas... like a drunk robinson caruso talking to a soccer ball named amy, or [insert name here] and hoping for a response...

you're an idiot, i hear from the back of my mind... everybody is living while you are writing... and yet, someone must love words as i do, someone must want to share the words as i do, not as life, but as an extension of the mind, the ethereal life...

still, this may very well be why i am alone tonight...

what's the point?

you come here for a moment
pretend it's important
to share something with me
as if it's destiny
or something you really want
and then you're gone
suddenly as you came
carry on, carry on

what's the point?

the visit

what does the burning tree say to the burning bush?



fuck you?

huh?

or



Live!

you listen well

and not at all.

yeah, so

we continue the pointless hypocrisy of purpose in spite of awareness mostly because nobody cares to give us something else to do and we have the time to waste in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep...

ole

and when the point is made and taken and given to exposure and made all too clear to be avoided, we have the answer we came to seek and then, lose interest and mosey off with our exuberance as if it never existed at all...

the point

may be to demonstrate why blogging is ineffectual as a means of meaningful conversation, for no blog can stop the bleeding... in other words (because there are always other words, time and space dilute any meaningfulness the words, and therein the blog, can have)... if i am so lonesome i could die at this moment and hold out hope that words posted here will help, i could just as easily be so fucking angry at the futility of reaching out that i could scream fuck you all for not giving a damn a few moments later because, after all, you are not sitting there waiting for my plea for comfort and reassurance that i am not alone... and then, look around, am i really there?... here?... anywhere?... of course not, so the loneliness can only be abated a bit and only in the mind... but the bottom line is that the very act of sitting here and typing these words and writing this blog is keeping me from ending the actual loneliness in my life... catch 2?...

so keep blogging, if that is really what you want to do...

what it is about

it does not matter if nobody cares, and the fact is, nobody does, but no worries, we can all go on pretending everybody cares just like at christmas or in church or at family gatherings or anywhere people seem to (or pretend to) care because, after all, that is what we do... and that is what it is about.

consistency revisited

if i came here every day and wrote something meaningful, something profound, or even just something that i wanted to share, innocuous, personal, general, specific, serious, irreverence, nonsense, or whatever...

would it matter in the end if you missed an entry?

as if that doesn't happen every day, but

who's counting, anyway?

lab rats

That's all we are, lab rats. Running around the maze of the internet, even when nobody is watching. Maybe the experiment got out of hand. Or maybe i am giving away the big secret right here and now. Does that eliminate me from the game or get me promoted. Not that I am actually asking. But Paranoids want to know, after all. Not really, if they wanted to know they wouldn't be so afraid of knowing, or being known, for that matter. Did we learn something?

I'll be lounging on the ferris bueller wheel if you need me.

missing the point

All the words can not compare with the touch of human skin, the breath of human exhale, the kiss of human lips. All the loving words in the universe cannot begin to fill the physical void of a sensual being. That is why most die while still walking around, for the agony of feeling the emptiness is worse than any numbness, but fools ask the question - is it better to go numb in words, to give up the chance for sensual sharing?

Better than what?

if we cared

We would understand.

life online

Spending so much time online, or at least appearing to, I confess the illusion is greater than the sum of it's parts. How many of my blogs have you found and do you know why? Why for you and why for me, why is the question before the last letter.

Irony of language used in correspondence.

So I confess. As much as I crave your attention, your respect, your admiration, adoration, affection... as much as I adore the feedback, i would trade it all, the internet, technology, life itself, for a moment of true love in eternal bliss. Or this could all be bullshit.

Fuck me for being such a fool.

yesterday, when i was younger

Did people really care more, or was I just more hopeful and a lot less willing to accept that selfish cruelty and wasteful insensitivity and delusional fear dominates human lives?

Will anyone ever know?

cut the crap

We all hide here in this online purgatory, too scared to leave the thread of hope we might mean something to someone in this world, too scared to go out and face the high potential for rejection or worse, too scared to face the truth of this illusionary celebrity and imaginary friendship we build in our minds.

Life is out there, where are we?

how long has this shit been going 'round?

years after the fact, like some savior seeker martyr innocent puppet following blindly some dream of heavenly parental figure that relieves all responsibility, dissolves all worries, ceases all pain, and heals all wounds, ethereal and physical, so rebirth is the only option, and it's supposed to mean something now?

proof

that nobody really cares.

as if no one knows

I just go on writing here, careless, or pretending not to care, bitter, or pretending to be bitter, cursing laughter, or laughing at the crap spouted into the void. I just go on writing here, as I could care less if anyone was out there, as if the whole point of blogging was a pathetic waste of time and energy. I just go on writing here, if no one knows.

not quite an artist's rendering

if you can tell me why it matters, i'd still ask you to prove it... if you could prove it to me, i'd be forever grateful...

fuck

if i wanted to, i would...

don't let me stop you

DON'T LET ME STOP YOUR GREAT SELF-DESTRUCTION
DIE IF YOU WANT TO YOU MISGUIDED MORTALS
I WASH MY HANDS OF YOUR DEMOLITION
DIE IF YOU WANT TO, YOU INNOCENT PUPPETS