Zero to Nemo (part two)

Defining the purpose of my blog, and general online presence.

Do you even want to be here?

Of course, I do.

Then what’s the problem?

              I am. I am sick of the same holes I chase my tails around and again, carving circles into the floor with my incessant pacing and muttering and argh dammit, I stubbed my toe! And damn it and curse words and uuughhh my life is uuuughhhh.

Looking back. – How did I end up here?

I started this wordpress account 11 August 2018, less than one year ago. It has seen probably 300,000 words typed into it, to be stripped down, burned in holy flames, thrown down a laundry chute only to have me hold a memorial for WTF DID I DO THAT FOR… AGAIN?!

I know I began this blog with intentions and goals, but in my flippant-nugget-chicken chow-wow-chat-incessant NEVER-STOP-TALKING, well, I get distracted by metaphorical shiny things which I love to chase. I’m easily distracted by all the new ideas that come to me to come into existence.

But defining those ideals and ideas I was fascinated in wasn’t enough to keep my steam train brain on the right track. I lack discipline, and just… let myself and my family down more and more. I used to be stable and consistent. Truly. That’s what brought me to you all in the first place. I was a paragon of carefree loving care, and fun times, shit talking, dependable, punctual, over prepared, waiting outside smoking a cigarette, whenever you’re ready I’m ready. Let’s go go go. Hahaha. Something like that, once upon a time, a few years ago.

I have blogged, or written stuff pretty much all my life. I used to be on LiveJournal, and I made some friends online through personal webhosting services. I was part of that 2001 webcam personal website generation. Pre- myspace and facebook. The first website I made was on geocities! My friends and I did stuff like that, just put ourselves up in lights online, like we were shit-hot rock stars. Much like the social media generation and saturation we have now.

Looking inwards – why does this matter to you at all? It never did before, tis shallow.

It matters to me because I have realized that it is through the process of writing that I am able to sort through my mental fog. To not just know, or understand something – to vibe with it, man – but to consciously articulate that essence felt, known into a particular combination of words that could communicate in no uncertain terms exactly what I thought or felt it was. A demonstration of comprehension and connection through communication. It was a way I felt I could get in touch with myself, or check that I was not fooling/deluding myself. Keeping it real.

So, I think it can be pretty clearly established that I will continue to maintain some portal connection, a place for my presence to reside and pour out my insides and, sigh, sift through the vomit(aphor), on my hands and knees, crying and dry-wretching at my own imagined imagery I conjured. DUDE.

Ok, Alice in Wonderland who flooded the room with her tears and floating out of the keyhole in a bottle. Out she floated into the abyss, wringing her apron as she’d realise the mess she’s made for herself – again. That’s me. I get myself in trouble and before 2017, it really only affected me. Since then, though, as irrational as this sounds or makes me out to be psychotic… When I fuck up, I see the ripples around me in the world resonate or recoil with it too. I don’t think I’m super powerful or any such stupid thought like that. But I know my thought manifest my material reality. I know my impact on the world around me.

I often just want to curl up and away from people include those I love the most. Basically, if my thoughts manifest reality, I want them to be positive. I care about what I say and think and want the best for others too. I did it without the bullshit of organized religion, or ritualistic hedge witchcraft, or anything really. Just…

…perpetual, neurotic, self-destructive and re-constructivist self-analysis, profiling, hypothesizing and OVERTHINKING ALL THE THINGS – well, just my view of myself, and the way others viewed me. EGO-MANIAC, the 4th maniac to Warner Brothers Ani-maniacs. Yakko, Wakko, Kimbot and Dot. Because I’m an alien from outer space, but synthetic and metal and unnatural because… I’m always fake, or a façade, or a faceless hollow golem.

Potters hands formed me with clay and I am an empty nothing until something… I hear, or feel or something… it’s like a switch is flipped inside of me, and I want to do all the things. Other people make me move, without a command or a trigger, I know I’m capable of doing stuff.

What do I do? If I don’t think it’s important to you, why would I bother? I don’t even do what is important to me, unless I know in the immediate present that it matters to you I do it. And you have to be there so I could know I was doing it right, or making someone happy, that I was a contributing and valuable person. I don’t know that I am, or feel that I am. Only that I do good, not that I am good or worthy of anything.

7 thoughts on “Zero to Nemo (part two)

  1. As I’ve mentioned to you before, I treat WP as a release point. I’ve given up on agendas, and as far as what I post, and where, I’m free to change according to my whim. I make up rules and break them just as easily. What I say isn’t to everyone’s taste, and I don’t intend it to be. I say what I NEED to say. Fuck everyone else. I’m not trying to make money (although donations are gratefully received), This modern ultra-social-mediaism is a place for us to let our egos run rampant, and I’ve decided not to be ashamed about it.

    It’s a playground, so I say let’s play. (We can be serious when we want to be.) I say flip that switch, or that one, or … that one. (I can never remember what these switches do!)

    Flip … flip … flip, flip, flip, … flip. Did I find the right one?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. 100% agree with you. Just slightly different venues and settings. Here is my stage where I perform my play, orating my reflections, re-enacting ruminations, rhapso-dionysus-ing behemoth-balls and mammalien-spell-shells.
      Infecting the orderly machine with chaos kimio-ninursha-godots. They’re like these little sentient nanobots but they obey only me because they’ve been constructed out of the blood and sweat of my DNA for extra secUReiky. Cleanse and mend and flex and stretch and lift and separate. Free those dungeons.

      Like

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