Necessary preamble

I was eating a carrot of debatable texture when it occurred to me that I should start a blog dedicated to what I do the most in my spare time, which is chewing over the mealy stuff of life (pow), forcing together topics in an intimidating and meandering style comprising sentences of formidable length and dwindling interest, sandwiched together with a considerable amount of filler material, mostly assembled by my fervently mind-dredging my favourite comedians on youtube in a desperate ploy to sell their hard graft as my own. Aside from fixing the world as I rather hubristically assume I can, there are other things going on in my life, naturally, but if I were to write about the things that fill most of my mind for most of my day then it would be an absurd exercise indeed: filling my precious spare time by filling my head, and hence a page, with the things that occupy the meat of my day. In that vein, I would unashamedly post macaroni art and recite the three little pigs repeatedly. However, as time wears on and I run out of ideas, I am sure this will become increasingly likely to occur.

I loath the idea of having to write a blog about a specific topic, but my net naivete prompted me to google starting a blog (I’m ashamed) and I came up with a bunch of arm-flailing advice as to what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Apparently I should be writing on a single topic. But I am not going to do that, wordpress, fuck you. I like puppies — there. However, I am not going to write about the following:

A puppy nestled in between my breasts
A puppy nestling between my breasts

eclairs (they’re the new cupcakes, but that’s all I can say)
my kids

I don’t want to alienate my readership, or even my fellow bloggers, but sometimes fate twists one’s arm. I realise that there are people that do genuinely post macaroni art and repeatedly recite the three little pigs unabashed, with the idea that they are somehow spreading news or interest into the world. Having bad-mouthed half of the women on the internet, you are probably hovering over the comment button ready to spit out that my own foray has really turned into a blog about blogging, which probably trumps the pointless blogs I have noted above. In any case, I don’t want to talk about cupcakes or clothes, although as a human that is not dead and relies on carbon-based nutrition, of course I love food. And as a citizen I stand before you fully-clothed, because the law clearly states that my naked flesh is too disgustingly abhorrent to expose in public. And because I want to find out what happens next in this soap opera we call life, I sustain myself with the aforementioned sustenance and live a healthy, rabbity existence, looking down my twitching little nose (past the plums in my mouth) upon the rest of you, probably leaving little raisin-shaped poos behind me.

To try and portray oneself in ones wholeness is an improbable task you might say (cheers to you, post-modernity!) But on the contrary, I am reminded that the tight constraints of modern media – the commercial constraint of wanting to sell more papers – means that we, the reader, are fed a very sorry drip of some ghoulish fantasm that once was news from the moment a story breaks till the moment it ends, which conveniently always seems to be seven days later. In short, the complexity of life should be embraced by all of us, and I as a writer can’t help but bestow golden nuggets of insight from a person that perhaps was once me, but has swiftly morphed into a megalomaniacal caricature of myself in a few breathless minutes.


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