Cool! This ought to be really interesting.
I'm eating a dinner of frozen green bean (steamed of course), tortilla chips with medium-hot 'Mango Salsa with Peach'. Oh yeah...and a glass of inexpensive merlot. Now you tell me, oh most bedazzled reader, is this as good as it gets or what?
But wait! There's more!
Just kidding. That's it.
So...what am I doing here writing to no one in particular on a Friday night? Umm....writing to no one in particular. Why do you ask? What the hell is so great about your life? What...you don't get sinus headaches? You've never sat and wondered if life is just a pit-stop on the way to something really cool? No? Oh that's right...you get cable don't you? I thought so. Then why are you here?
posted by Ken at 11:05 PM
Actually...I am finding this blogg thing to be quite tedious. Oh I suppose there is the 'thrill' of having ones words posted on the Internet for all the world to see (assuming that the world has nothing better to do than to read obscure blogg postings).
Ok...so it's a cold rainy day. Out my front window I can see that the mountains have a dusting of fresh snow--a perfect day for sipping tea, recovering from the flu and writing, or at least trying to write. Some days the words flow, and some days they just seem to get stuck somewhere in my subconsciousness. I've tried coaxing them out in various ways but to no avail. Guess I'll just struggle though until I hit a smoother stretch in the road.
So now I'm 'blogging'. And I'm quite sure that millions of blogg readers from around the globe are waiting for, and delighting in, my every key-stroke. I can hear gasps of amazement at the completion of every sentence. To be so appreciated and adored is more than I could have ever hoped for. Yes...perhaps this blogg business is ok after all. "Give us something profound!!" comes the cry. "Feed our imaginations!!". Not here, not now I respond impassively. There are dishes to wash and laundry to be folded--naps to be taken and affairs to be tended to. "Blasphemy!!" they shout in unison. "Such a great man should never tarnish his soul with such mundanity! Where are the minions to tend to his needs?" Minions indeed I muse. If only they knew. If only they knew that, while I appear to be the master of my own words--I am a mere slave to them. They do not come from me, but through me. Once commited to sentence, they hold powerful sway over my ability to think further upon a subject, and they mark indelibly upon the masses an image of me that may be less then flattering. If they only knew indeed...
This is all too much for me and I find myself growing weary. I'll retire now to my imagination where there are no rules of composition, no conjunctions or independent clauses--only soft swirling clouds of color, thought and feeling waiting to be discovered, captured and tamed so that they can be written about. And the cycle continues.
posted by Ken at 12:54 PM
