For those afflicted by a fatal facility to write, compulsion and obsession can become easily intertwined. During periods like this one, it isn't just that I feel obliged to report what's going down. It's that I feel driven to interpret events, to relieve my muse's incessant demands and to comment for posterity. For me, it remains much as blogs were originally conceived, in the sense of them serving as public diaries.
But never let a writer tell you that he or she doesn't care if anyone reads their work. Whenever I hear of being bashed for something I've written, I laugh loud and long. Seems they just can't help reading what annoys them most, and they're weaker for it. It matters less that they're anonymous, and more that they've beaten themselves from the outset by being unable to look away.
Having made these observations, I sense that this spike of productivity may be coming to a close. It isn't the first time you're heard me say it. There's a lot to do at those two places where no one ever goes, because we keep selling more of the beer no one ever drinks, and as a result, I'll be forced to cut back at the blog no one ever reads. Time to take it easy for a few days -- if the muse permits.
3 comments:
Bullshit.
I, for one, will never read this blog again!!!!!!!!
Tough crowd today. You guys need to go somewhere and eat copious quantities of steak tartare or other raw meat, LOL.
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