In the immortal words of LL Cool J, I would like to quash rumours of this blog’s out-and-out demise. But unlike everyone else that has invoked this statement-to-end-all-fake-retirements since, I will temper the promise of its bluster and bite with caution. After all, didn’t LL himself lurch slowly towards a consistent, downward trajectory after the high highs of this massive 1990 re-branding? Let us not fathom my words and ideas pulling the equivalent of clinging to a co-starring gig on a b-network, CSI knockoff (if that’s still around whatsoever) less than twenty years later.
Sorry LL. Not so sorry Mike Tyson. You neither Brett Favre.
Seriously though, let’s not get hopes up with this fresh, year-plus-plus-in-hiatus, digital ink. One, you’re probably already snoozing through these sentences at this point. Two, what the hell am I going to write or post about anyway?
In its previous incarnation, this ramble of flickering e-waste was–whether I acknowledged it or not–essentially a travelogue. Most posts were blatantly so; others, just tangential digressions often compelled by boredom or resulting from pockets of time borne of my near-constant movement. Things work better for me when I’m on the move. Thoughts are fresher, experiences that much more varied. While I doubt anybody’s best quality is stasis, it is most certainly one of my worst. I love lethargy (it has its own nuances, cultures a private world not beholden to the strictures between fantasy and reality), but like anyone else, I indulge it at the expense of other things: writing, drawing, painting, designing, creating–pretty much anything. And because I rarely do anything half-hearted, for me it can be a particularly severe investment/divestment. I am quite content to be cast adrift and float further into the shapeless unknown—in fact, the traveling, the itchy feet as I call it, are direct evidence of this.
So, what to write and post about? The weather? An endless stream of shop talk and work complaint? My favourite movies? Half-cracked rants against organized religion and conservative politics? Or perhaps my ever-expanding repertoire of romantic failure? Maybe just the mundane of my everyday life? All of the aforementioned actually sound like surefire means to add this resurrection to the trash heap of epic comeback fails.
Stay tuned.
And give suggestions.
