As improbable as it must appear to casual perusal of the results, writing this crap is a major creative event, taken very seriously by this writer, and consequently an endeavour of considerable contemplation and no little time.
Were it not for the miracle of computers, whole forests of pine trees would be consumed in its production.
These are not pococurante jottings dashed off between drams.
Striving for perfection involves many false starts and many revisions. And you deserve no less.
Mass production may improve frequency, but ultimately leads to satiation and devaluation.
As in sex, or any other high endeavour, quality is everything. These are not pococurante jottings dashed off between drams.
Striving for perfection involves many false starts and many revisions. And you deserve no less.
Mass production may improve frequency, but ultimately leads to satiation and devaluation.
The main challenge to us all at the moment is to refuse to allow our days to be filled with rage and frustration at those mendacious, manipulative, malevolent, malicious, malingering, maleficent morons in Canberra. No easy task.
(Actually, that doesn't quite come off, does it. Perhaps callous, conniving, criminal, crooked, cancerous, calumniate, corrupt cunts in Canberra is better. Or the wicked, wasteful, wearisome wanker in Washington.)
To palliate the rage, I found that it helped to express my displeasure in sentences, not always alliterative.
But the act of writing only alleviates the frustration a bit.
Tantrums are much more satisfying if others are watching.
Unfortunately, writing a blog is the literary equivalent of lying on the ground with one's genitals exposed, and I'm not sure if the anticipation of humiliation and embarrassment is preferable to barely suppressed rage or not.
But the anonymity of a blog helps.
The whole exercise seems a bit pretentious and self-indulgent. But it does impose a sense of obligation to commit my feelings to sentences on a more or less regular basis.
And anyway, I've spent my whole life feeling embarrassed and humiliated, so why should I change now?
(Actually, that doesn't quite come off, does it. Perhaps callous, conniving, criminal, crooked, cancerous, calumniate, corrupt cunts in Canberra is better. Or the wicked, wasteful, wearisome wanker in Washington.)
To palliate the rage, I found that it helped to express my displeasure in sentences, not always alliterative.
But the act of writing only alleviates the frustration a bit.
Tantrums are much more satisfying if others are watching.
Unfortunately, writing a blog is the literary equivalent of lying on the ground with one's genitals exposed, and I'm not sure if the anticipation of humiliation and embarrassment is preferable to barely suppressed rage or not.
But the anonymity of a blog helps.
The whole exercise seems a bit pretentious and self-indulgent. But it does impose a sense of obligation to commit my feelings to sentences on a more or less regular basis.
And anyway, I've spent my whole life feeling embarrassed and humiliated, so why should I change now?