Why I Write

What am I doing here?

Seated in front of a keyboard in a dark room trying to make sense of the myriads of different thoughts that cross my brain. I find myself wondering why I do this? Why am I writing these ridiculous things and publishing them, putting decent people in the line of fire for my personal brand of madness?

Instinctively, I try to take the path of glory. I'm here to proclaim the evils of our time. To announce and bring attention to these wrongs we must battle with. Sounds glamorous, or at least worthy of song. But, sadly, it's probably far from the truth.

Pointing out the evils of the world? Child's play. Any grade school child with a package of Capri Sun and the internet can know what's evil. We're not dealing with a world that is unknowing. Just a world that is past caring. Why lament the sinister natures of Microsoft when there's porn to be viewed? Explorer can render tits just as easily as those other fools. Takes less work to use too. And there's so many things that sucks the teat of Windows. Lots of things is always good right? No harm can come from one beast holding all the chips.

The beasts will eat us all. They'll rend every piece of usable flesh of our limbs and we'll watch them do it. We won't be ignorant to the fact, or unknowing of the procedure. We will simply allow it to happen, pacified to the point of carelessness. Sure there are other things out there that are righteous...........no wait. Rethink, rephrase. Sure, there are other things out there that are less evil, but integration is hard. The devil owns an XBox and drives a Dodge Ram. He hates foreigners and loves reality TV. Ol' Scratch has all the very best toys, and we all party at his house. The bar is stewn with empty boxes of Samuel Adams, Twinkie wrappers, and old copies of Rachael Ray's magazine. Flatscreen plasma pumps vintage reels of American Idol contestants being shown the door. Ryan Seacrest takes great amusement in telling the wishful and hopeful that their country doesn't think they're good enough. He paints clown makeup on their teary faces as they're forced to sing with their worthless voices one last time. Somewhere in the background, Toby Keith and Ashley Simpson are streamed over the loudspeakers. Singing of a love some desolate unattractive songwriter felt for one fleeting moment in his life. A moment that has been raped by the great and admirable show horses of our time. He'll never remember that time, or her face during that moment, without picturing them.

And there we can sit, talking about name brand jeans, enemies of the state, and how delicious the Olive Garden is. There's great peace in this. Righteous ignorance. No way to trip and fall if you never have to stand up. Dear god, has it really come to this? Have we accepted evil in our lives because it's convenient? Have the wounds caused by the sinister and depraved really become so easy to overlook? The doctors have scapel-slashed our carotid artery, then handed us a lollipop. Suckle at the sugar and watch the blood run to the floor. You might get just enough of a buzz to ride it out on top.

The world is filled with writers and artists and bankers who pass judgment on the evils of the world. I'm not anything special. Probably below the curve in most respects. I'm well read in all the wrong subjects, never held a petition sign in my life, avoid the news in all it's forms. I'm never first on the scene with the breaking news. Never will be. Watching tragedy in real time has little appeal for me. I'm no glory hound.

So what then? Why do this? Why spend days bending the fine lines of an already fragile language? I suppose just to clear up some space. Free the mind a little bit from the rampant thoughts that occupy most of my time. Have one less thing to think about.

So you, my dear reader are being grudgingly hauled along for this strange and twisted ride, for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Just to relieve the stress of a weary mind and partake of all the nonsense that comes out of it.

My sincerest apologies.