YOU see it, but it's not there for me. It's your blog, so you get to be the god of the dustbin. Or trashcan. Or (as I call it) the bin. As in 'bin it'.
Google Analytics points out the continuing struggle to win the hearts and minds of the parvenu colonials (more green=more hits). Need to find some way of attracting the mid-west. Marshmallow-stuffed turkey ? Because I know you have fairly disgusting diets out there in the nasty blank miles of between. Or maybe I should find god? (Stuck to my sole). Rant incoherently for a while on plainly daft theories of ontology and epistemology? (How do I know I'm evolved from slime-mould?). Or is that too up its own fundamentalism? So if you have a friend (or a backwoods flange of interbred cousins you don't talk about) in the dead miles between cities, drop them a carrier pigeon and get them to access my blog (with their steam-driven Babbage engines , or hay-built abaci), let some slightly dingy British rain into their golden-corn lives. Also, it appears I'm not appealing to the redneck constituency. What's the matter with y'all? Too busy fucking your sisters?
Well, by now, you - one of the eight reading this blog - should have guessed that this is an echo-chamber, not an auditorium. I'm not really trying to engage an audience just now: I'm trying things out; mainly to see how embarrassed I am by my writing when I read it the next day - always a good measure in my opinion. So, the main things I've found: I over-qualify, use too many adjectives. Half my writing is unwriting. Like embryonic development: where cells are shed from a mitten of undifferentiated flesh to define fingers and thumbs. I have forgotten the rules of grammar for speech. Parenthesised clauses feel like smug little asides from a knowing author to a complicit reader (don't you think?) I enjoy writing sentence by sentence, and risk losing the paragraph's meaning. I want to chop out great screeds of fine writing 1 the morning after. But that wouldn't be in the spirit of blogging this stuff. On the other hand, I've cut some real self-indulgent c...
okay, this explains alot. BTW, you are better looking without a cigarette, in fact. And no, you fight yourself just fine. No need to fight me.
ReplyDeleteman. can I delete that?
ReplyDeleteerase, erase, erase ???
yes, there's a delete button right there.
ReplyDeleteBut, thanks for the whatever that was.
right where?
ReplyDeleteit's the dustbin (trashcan?) under the time
ReplyDeleteYOU see it, but it's not there for me. It's your blog, so you get to be the god of the dustbin. Or trashcan. Or (as I call it) the bin. As in 'bin it'.
ReplyDeleteoh, right. Sorry.
ReplyDelete(god of the dustbin, well I never)