I have been telling my mates over the last year that I would love to some how keep a diary or maybe venture into journalism, write in some capacity, maybe for television or radio and they always say to me.
- 'Why don't you start a blog? I'd read it.'
And of course, in my head I'm like
- 'No one reads blogs, I don't read blogs, sure. So obviously no one reads blogs, why would I waste my time.'
- 'They do, I swear,'
There is nothing I would find more dull than browsing through other peoples blogs. I would say there is some serious horse shit out there. People who have no I idea of humor or any understanding of what is interesting what so ever. I have a feeling this blog game is going to be a fucking doddle. I'm going to try and stick to three blogs a week, really push myself, through myself into it, even if people aren't listening, which they aren't. See how it fairs after a couple of months, see what reaction I get back. If I get a reaction. I cannot believe that some complete stranger is going to take the time out of his or her day and read this shit. I will be shocked if somebody reads this. Which means if no one reads this, I'm talking to myself.
Anyway, if you are reading this, its my first go, come back in three days and I'll hopefully knock you on your bollix laughing with some brilliant anecdote that is so witty that you'll just have to come clicking back for more.
Until then I'm gonna get my think cap on about what I'm going to write about next, so catch ye later if your even there . . . . . . . . .there's no one there, is there . . . . . . . . . . . I knew it, ah well, see you in three days . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I could say anything doesn't matter . . . . . . . I like kiddy porn, it doesn't matter.
I see you have three 'followers' already, Jack, if that is your real name. It seems that with the advent of the risibly named 'blogosphere (a veritable universe of Joe Bloggs characters would be a healthier space in which to while away one's crushingly abundant free time) we have gone back to the days when all you had to do to was don a loincloth, fuck off into the forest and preach nothingness, and within about three days you'd have four or five cretins hanging on your every word (i'm looking at you, Zoroaster). Perhaps this is a result of the fac =t that we are in a time of crisis - or perhaps the idea that we are in 'crisis' in a mere play by those who would like us to believe we are in crisis so they get away with shit while we're distracted or sell us books telling us how to survive the crisis. Of course now that there are few forests left and loincloths have gone out of fashion, I suppose the only real outlet is indeed the writing of a blog - well, that and getting shitfaced. Gerrin. Good luck with the blog.
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