Ode to everyone listening...

It has dawned on me that less people have been reading lately or at all. I DON'T BLAME YOU. For there are more important things to read about. Although, I've been spreading the hot poop (slang for information) like jam. My gift in return for doing so? Some tenaciously stinky fingers. Oh, and an ego sitting in the back seat. In the midst of knowing how small my audience has shrunk, I've realized something. I cannot stop writing, no matter what. That's the wonderful invention about these blogs. Which reminds me of my livejournal account* that I never told anyone about or the stacks of written journals I had carried loyally everywhere. Obviously, I wasn't concerned about how many people read them or an audience at all. In fact, if you picked up one of my written journals, I'd promptly smack it onto the floor. For good reason, and I have done that. To endure in great detail my at the time unrequited love interests and also how insanely, insanely horney (yet alone I might add) I was for most of College would be disastrous. Mainly because they were intended for private use and if read by a second party would be an ultimate en route to embaressment. It's license for friends to verbally knock the wind out of your already delaptated sails and lovingly so. No normal person would volunteer for that SHIT!?!!? Anyway, personal expression shouldn't be about audience whatsoever. Vitally, it is a creative outlet and a form of self documentation. These are valid reasons to keep people scribbling despite my previous groan about all of this.

I know I talk a lot of shit, and that I use this device as a harem for all that is unimportant/useless knowledge. The truth is I never expected anyone to take any form of interest in my writing. When I found out that people subsribed to my blog, and also commented (including my mypsace blog that has since banished into oblivion). I was floored, and utterly surprised. It was never about how many people I could get to read, and yet people read. There is nothing more true than these elements tremendously helped and inspired me to write more. And for that I say, THANK YOU. You have know idea how much I've appreciated this. I couldn't drop this self indulgent whine fest concerning my gaybo** writing without giving credit to those who do read daily/sometimes/or at all because it was honestly long over due. PRAISE!!!

Now, that I've unleashed that laundry-sized satchel of emotional bananas on to your unwilling hearts I'll muster up a transition. Processing... processing....

Currently, I'm reading Oh The Glory It All. Which is a book that caught my eye about a year ago. Excitedly, I snatched this hardback for $5.98 fresh from the bargains table at Barnes & Nobles. My interest in memoirs containing this particular subject matter are an anomaly to me. It is written from the perspective of a son who grows up with an over the top wealthy mother and father in SF, California. They predictably exhibit mondo douche baggy behavior toward each other which in turn shreds the family to pieces.


Good night!




*live journal is for fucking nerds

**a vocabulary word stolen from Cotton.