I don’t know why I do this to myself.
Narcissism, I guess.
The poet Stephen Crane wrote, in his poem “A Man Said to the Universe:
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”
So here I am, in the dark, toiling alone at my keyboard, just as I have in years past. I’ve created poems of my own, along with short stories, essays and a small library of unfinished, unread (and probably pretty awful) novels.
I thought, when I started this, that it would be a group endeavor. My friends are all remarkable storytellers in their own right, and together we’ve shared (endured) some rather remarkable adventures. I even offered to lend my editing skill, so as no one should feel that they embarrassed themselves, but alas, it seems they’ve left me alone here in the distant reaches of cyberspace, speaking forever into the void my tales that none shall hear.
And to do this, I pay WordPress $18 a year. And it’s gone up a buck since last year (don’t think I didn’t notice, WordPress).
But, damnit, if I’m going to pay almost $20 for a domain, I’m going to use it. I’ll find something to post here, by golly. A man need not appease an editor to publish his thoughts and ideas, no, not here at the edge of the Internet! Though the universe need not care what I have to say, that’s no reason not to say something anyway.
So, my chums seem to have abandoned me? This isn’t the first time I’ve been left alone. At least I’m not passed out drunk in a campground bathroom outside Moab (looking at you, Scottsky). At least I’m not a bleached-blond ghost wandering senseless the streets of Long Beach (yeah, that’s right, Camo), or a singularly uninteresting chap who doesn’t drink but suffices to look cute and fall down a lot (Joey). What say you, BOB? FRU? Spouse of Joey? Spouse of, well, me?
No one? Not one of you other contributors has anything to say? No opinions? No stories to tell, observations to make, ideas to illuminate this dark sphere of digital perusal? No? Nothing?
Or is it a matter of time? Granted, not all can be the abundant purveyor of prose such as I. Writing well takes time – which is precisely why I don’t do it.
On little did Plato and Aristotle agree, but on this they saw eye to eye: we must take the time from our day to think. We must remove ourselves from distraction and “write history,” as Plato said. There must be an opportunity for contemplation, or we will never understand the things that happen to us. Your lives will be richer by far if you spent some time composing your thoughts, recalling your adventures, and marking them down. Over the course of evenings, you’ll be able to bring this experience to light, enriching this rusty old blog and the lives of those who might search it. So what if the No. 1 all-time search term that’s brought people to our site is “Burt Reynolds on a bear skin rug?” So be it! GIVE THE PEOPLE MORE BURT
Because it’s lonely here, keeping this silent watch, and the blog in the state of nature: inane, boorish and short.