Sunday, March 26, 2006


I have long since stopped worrying if anyone will drop by to read my blather here. It definitely no longer matters. I write for an audience of one. I started out that way back in the day of poor penmanship in numerous spiral notebooks with the margins filled with bad doodles. Should I develope an audience, I would be thrilled. But other people's stamp of approval is not what I am seeking.

Seeking? Hmm. I am not seeking so much as I am relieving myself of an insistent pressure that builds up inside me over time. Just getting the words out often leaves me as drained as any 50 mile bike ride. I will pound out some drivel in manic bursts until my wad is shot. I then sit back and re-read what I wrote and feel good. Whether the text is worthy or the topiic timely is not important. I have performed some self medication, call it self therapy. As pointed out in the blog "Kill the Goat" , these blogs are nothing but jacking off anyway. I can live with that. Self-gratification is way underrated. The difference with blogs is we are doing it in public, not behind the protective covers of notebooks, journals and bad hand writing.

Call it journalistic flashing. The problem is I do not seem to be able to find anyone who is impressed enough, amused enough, or outraged enough to even take notice. It's as if I am in some huge public park trying to impress all the pic nickers, walkers, joggers and such with what I have behind my jacket, but I don't even get a titter. Maybe a pink dildo with an American Flag attached would get some hackles up or make someone smile. Well, that last sentence made me chuckle anyway.