Moribund

Posted Tuesday, 19 December 2006, 10:24 am | 3 comments

That would be the word used to describe a blog that’s idle for more than five months.

Not that there’s a soul on earth who was aware that it was idle. In that characteristic, I share a wealth of comrades across the net. One can only imagine how many blogs are out there, started in good faith, with freshly washed face and apple cheeks, only to slide into the oblivion that’s inevitable when one ruminates with the general interest value of ‘Dear Diary’ without a lock on it. Or alternatively, when one ruminates on self-referential ruminations on self-reference. There! I did it again!  …And again, right there! Wow.

Most people really don’t have much to say—or at least, much to say that others would care to hear. We’ve all got our own little theories on life, the meaning of same, and how we fit into the vast cosmos. Some can write on the matter effortlessly and with grace. Most however merely prattle on, their inner voice laid bare in text. I’m not the first to point out that blogs are merely the immediate, electronic version of Vanity Publishing. We all think we have the makings of an author. Alright—that’s not true of course. Vast numbers of people don’t give the slightest thought to being an author. Millions live their lives without ever putting fingers to keyboard and laying bear their inner torment. Possibly it means that millions don’t have inner torment. or possibly it means they haven’t got a computer yet. Who knows?

I certainly don’t. I’m a master at prattling on about nothing of any significance at all, while patting myself on the back for the crisp delivery of same. There! I did it again!

I have a lot on my mind. a lot. Matters of faith, matters of ethics and politics, matters of love, and matters of annoyance. The question remains—do I write that shit down? Whose life will be enriched by sharing my inner torment? In what way will humanity benefit? On the other hand, who says anyone has to be enriched by it? And furthermore, why do I assume that this metablathering is even being read by anyone? I’m the only one reading it right this very instant, as I have yet to post it. I might just hit the ‘draft’ button, and leave it all in the dark.  Wouldn’t that be a tasty twist. I’ve written all this crap, meta-meta-blathering, and now i can leave it locked up, as if never written. What a challenging idea.

Eeesh. This is most definitely one of my worst traits. Second-guessing, and indulgent introspection and analysis. See? I’m doing it again!!!

 

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