I’ve often thought, ‘wouldn’t it be great if I could make my writing ability work for me? I coul be one of those full time blahgging people who actually makes money at what they do! I could do my job from anywhere in the world!’

More often I tend to think about how clever I would have to be all the time. Most people who seem to be successful at blahgging offer a kind of niche blahg. They specify, rather than rant about whatever comes into their head at the time. Or whatever has been festering over the course of the day to the extent that it must be exorcised into the vast spaces of the interweb at random. I don’t know that I could nichify so easily. Rant, yes. Specify? Not so much.

I also wonder about the drive for content. I’ve noticed that the really successful blahgs have ooodles of people commenting after them. Most of the comments are agreeable, supportive, written  by people who are so pleased to discover other clever and witty people with the same views as themselves, it goes a long way to justifying how they are living their lives. That’s always nice. There are sometimes disagreements, to the point of venomous and wounding remarks. Outright attacks on the thoughts the original blahgger has put forth. Some eloquent, most ignorant and hateful. Would one eventually find that the writing would cater to a certain collective thought pattern, rather than one’s own? The more people who read it, the greater chance there is of offending someone (which distresses me not at all) and the greater chance there is of people voicing their comments, opinions, judgey-hatredy ramblings towards things that came from my head. Suddenly one might have to be careful about how often the word fuck is used. Or how many times in one posting the virtues of abortion to free oneself from the stress of unwanted pregnancy is put forth. Or how retarded it is to demand that the word retarded is only used to refer to people (not things, situations or governments) and then only people who were born with mental or physical restrictions. What about people who  acquire retardation like some acquire wigs? I admit that most of the facts I have are ones that I have made up to suit whatever belief system I’m supportive of today. But I realize that. How many people out there do the same thing, but take what their brains tell them to be true? I’m talking to you ‘big omnipotent dude who lives in the sky and promises sky cake after you’re dead so long as you keep yourself from doing anything fun while you’re alive and do good things (yes, because molestation of children, keeping people from using condoms to prevent excess population and the spread of disease and hoarding riches while children starve are all good acts) only because it’s what’s expected of you, not because you are well and truly a good person’ believer-types.

I’m all tingly at the thought of how many different interest groups/ demographics/uptight wankers I’ve offended within that paragraph alone! If I acquired income from my writings, you can bet that my religious sponsors just dropped me. As well as mothers against anything cool, indignant parents of retards and a good portion of fence sitters who are just uncomfortable with such sarcastic ranting. Ok, the catholic church is responsible for all those things and yes, political correctness has gone to far and people are way too sensitive when it comes to how much they let words dictate how they feel about what they say to one another, but do you have to be so in your face about it?

My thoughts. Mine. My desire to express them, my right, my selfishness when it comes to those things that will make me happy. Nobody else’s business. Truly. Am I going out and performing abortions? Am I forcing my belief system on people who were pleasantly existing before I came along and introduced them to the concept of shame and sexual repression while secretly molesting their children? Am I kicking puppies? Am I walking up to retarded kids and telling them they are limited by their brains that operate differently than most people, regardless of the fact that most people who have “normal” working brains are complete idiots who use less brain power, have less compassion and less joy in everyday existence than so-called retards? Who is the retarded one exactly?

Sure, it could be argued that I should restrain myself because it is the internet after all and some kid might come across my ramblings and be forever scarred by the blatant disregard for subservient kowtowing. (Do those words mean the same thing? Have I just written a superfluous redundancy? Yes, it appears I have. Though kowtowing has a certain amount of respect that goes along with it, wheras I am just a disrespectfully crass ninny. I’ll try again.) Perhaps I should restrain myself because it is the internet after all and someone might come across my ramblings and be forever scarred by my blatant disregard for self imposed blinders when it comes to experiencing life in all of it’s dirt covered bliss, without the stupidity of antibacterial soap.  I hope the scarring is deep enough to encourage independent thought! Besides the chance that a kid will randomly stumble across this is so slim, I use far too many words in one place for that kind of thing. I would bet that most random visitors might read the first paragraph, but upon not seeing their own name written, or some other pertinent detail, would move on. Plus there is virtually no porn whatsoever.

My advice to those who might come across this and be offended? Find something else to look at. There are thousands of websites where you can stare at cats doing silly things, children falling down, fat people being jolly as only fat people can (just lost the portly demographic…) humans enmired in all kinds of useless and ironic activity for no good reason at all. The reason I write here is because I’m reaching out from my brain, to my brain and a small selection of other brains whose presence has not been filtered out by my caustic wit, unapologetically dark humor and general awesomeness. Notice I used the word filter? Yes, it’s true. It could be that under all these layers of savagery sarcasm there is a lovely human being who is nowhere near as mean as she appears. Too bad you were shocked and appalled at her lack of tact when it comes to such a sensitive issue such as (insert religious fanatic’s cause of the day here), you miss out on me. I’m ok with that, the reason why the filters exist to keep the intolerant, the ignorant, the wankers from wanting to talk to me. I’m sure, being a human, you have your inherent value. You have your life and your story and the fact that you came into being (which the odds dictate as astronomical) suggests that you have a place here, just as I do. I just don’t need your small minded bullshit rattling my cage. I’ve got my own small minded bullshit I’m sorting through on my way to figuring out what works best for me, while living my life as joyfully and humbly as one can when one is as incredibly awesome as me.

Now, all that said, it might be determined that all my ranting is naught but a clever smoke screen for the fact that it has been a few days since I reported on the progress of my experiment. The experiment goes well. I have discovered that doing something just to prove that I can is not a good way to inspire discipline in myself. Yes, I feel good when I exercise. Yes, I feel great when I have a good piano playing session. When I have imposed mandatory regulations on myself with regard to both of these things, it doesn’t feel so good. I’m not saying any of this because I’ve stopped doing them, on the contrary, with the exception of tonight when I fell asleep right after dinner, I have maintained the discipline of exercising and playing every day. But discipline that is imposed feels so wrong. It really does. I admit I find it a little sad that there is some kind of compulsion within me to submit to such a thing. Perhaps it’s the masochist in me. I think rather than demanding of my self that it capitulates to what the overbrain considers “good practices” I should instead practice at maintaining “good habits”.  If it feels good when something gets done, why doesn’t that memory sustain a desire to continue? I know how awesome it feels to have the extra energy from exercising, why do I have to cajole my self to do it again the next day? But that’s a question for another time.

On another note, I leave for Costa Rica in 3 days. The only white I’ll be seeing for the next month will be the light cotton skirt and tanktop I’ll be wearing over my bikini, to contrast my amazing tan. I am so due for some vitamin d.  I wish I could take you all with me darlings, but my backpack is just too little. There will be pictures galore however, and while the ramblings will ideally take back seat to rainforest and volcano exploration, along with surf lessons and sunset gazing, I’m sure I will feel compelled to write a little something now and again, just to allow for vicariousness at it’s most topically tropically.

And one more pot shot, for all those banana lovers out there. I did say virtually no porn, remember.