This Ends Now

Let me preface this by admitting that I was on crazy drugs when I wrote my last post. If blog posts can be rock albums, Charity Work is my Tusk. Psychedelic Kimchi is inside baseball, for sure, but there's always meaning behind these words. Not so with Charity Work. That shit confuses me like Spanish comments on YouTube. Mostly, it bothers me because it has no purpose. It was inspired by nothing.

2007 hasn't exactly been a banner year for me in terms of writing. The aforementioned post aside, I haven't been disappointed with anything I've written, but neither have I been proud. That's mostly because I've been working a hell of a lot more than I used to (and getting paid a hell of a lot less; cry for me, Argentina), and, subsequently, the days of 1000-plus-words posts are on hiatus. But it's also because I've had a lot of real-world stuff to deal with, good and bad, and haven't had the time or inclination to traverse such matters into anything beneficial for this hallowed site. Idealjetsam cheers at the cryogenic state of running commentaries on basketball games.

These days the good is getting better, the bad pretty much gone to sleep. Some day -- and, word to Marlon Brando, this day may come soon -- I'll relate to y'all, like Marlow in a Joseph Conrad novel, the fantastic tale of ruin and redemption that consumed me for most of the past two years. I'll do it when the time is right. And it's feeling righter with each passing day.

Until now, I've made vague references -- and basketball analogies -- to my plight. Perhaps that makes me interesting; probably it makes me confusing. Worst of all, I fear it makes me emo, and that I cannot do.

There's definitely a place for introspective soul searching, and, word to Cameron Crowe, I've always tried to balance my obscure writing tendencies with just the right amount of connectivty vis a vis pathos, desire, and universal truths. I want to puzzle you, stimulate your sense of humor, and stir your soul all at the same time. Unfortunately, when I look back at the majority of my posts since April, all I see are maudlin whimperings. Shit has become unbalanced. Like elephants and ants on see-saws.

Since late June I've been on a bender of manic emotion. Truth crushed to Earth rose again, and damn it feels good. Often, that translated to armchair pseudo-wisdom on my behalf. For that I'm sorry, for I was a complacent asshole. I was celebrating a little too overtly in the end zone after a touchdown, and now I'm flagging myself.

Yesterday marked a very important anniversary in my life. Days, months, and years are simply dates on a calendar invented by a Roman emperor, but October 6th is still significant to me.

Keyword: ME. From now on, no more vague allusions to vivid personal memories. No more emo music from this sucka.

(Until, that is, my autobiography hits in June 2008. Word to Doubleday.)

We now return to our regular-scheduled program.