i’m blogging back from hyber-blogging-nation.  and some more stuff.

Posted on August 09, 2007 @ 8:30 PM

Want to do a blog?  I do, yeah.  Right.  
I figured I would be a great blogger, that blogs would pour from my head, or fingers, or internet connection, or what ever the fuck it is that pours ideas to bloggage.  I’m not though, and I blame that on the people around me.   You see, I am a talented young man, but I easily get sidetracked with a list of vices - one admirably being BMX – and don’t have the resources a talent like myself requires to churn out anything remotely near my potential.  You people, you so called friends, idols, mentors, carers, minions, you should be making sure that I fulfil my potential as a man, not least a blogger!  Come on, club together, buy me a nice little Del package of printer, scanner and laptop, or, if you really care about me and the future of art, literature, humour, you’ll stump the cash for something much classier; a G4 laptop?  I’m not even asking for G5.   

 

 

 

I’m neither here nor there.  The only time tabled thing in my life is the 2.5 days of graft I do in the kitchen of a pub, sometimes the bar.  How can I timetable my spurts of genius with the random computer access I have available?  I need it there for me to use when inspired, there in my bedroom.  Basically, for me to gather my ramblings, thoughts and drawings, to coordinate them to a time and a place where I have a borrowed computer handy, or one is free in my studio, with all the equipment I need, and I have all the information I’ve gathered to hand…fuck, that is rare.  Made harder because I’m a protagonist, and heavy drinker, partier and keen on my bed.  I’m the most unorganised obsessive compulsive you could ever meet.  So, to lessen the guilt felt from not doing all the things I really should be doing, ticking off my to-do-lists, my chores, meeting deadlines, making myself food, going riding, riding more than the local park, buying booze, drugs, paying bills, I enter a world of ignorance.  Some say it is blissful.  By ignoring everything and constantly putting it off I put off the crushing bite from reality.  Well, for about a month each time.  Then, usually coinciding with a comedown from hell, I furiously make lists and partly face my demons.  Number 9; check blogs.

 

 

 

Are they still as boring as before?  Yes, ‘where have all the thinkers gone?’  Absurd.  Oh, wait.  There is something there.  Brilliant.  Cheers Northern John, and who’s this chap…Chris G?  Yes, if it wasn’t for them, the kids would be left reading boring boredom from Bobby Bore-o.  Oh, my eyes widen again as I further the scroll…PHILZINE!  These fucks.  There’s more, is that Robin Fenrod blogging away?  It is, but he’s not in my league.  The others, though, spotted the niche for humour and banter whilst I was sat, wrongly smug, drinking, sleeping, getting sunburnt at a stupid skatepark, and (whilst sat on the shitter) enjoying the works of Rimbaud, Hunter S. Thompson and Chris Nieratko, like the lonely cultured avantgarderist I thought I was.  But, I’m inspired.  I’m back.  I’m going to carry quill and parchment most places and hand write my ideas for later.  For when I can sneak into Milo’s room and steel his G4.  Someone bought him one.  If I move the washing off my desk, there is room for me to have one too.

 

 

p.s. That drawn picture of me for the blogs section is re-blogging-diculous.  I’m furious.  I put the actual picture of me elegantly holding a paint brush in my mouth into that heritage celebrity look-a-like website and it came up with a handsom Chris Rea, and Madonna.  When I put that Chris Noble effort in it came up with the fat georgie from Auf Weidersehn, Pet.  Not happy at all.  

 

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