Saturday, June 02, 2007

Black Sheep

I was looking over another blog of mine recently. It's probably best to call it an old blog, but it was and technically still is my "Secret other blog." I used it to post things that I wanted to have saved, but felt were too explicit or caustic or incriminating for my regular blog. For a while there I was also posting everything twice. I would write an entry and post it to the secret blog, then remove any profanity and anything I thought was too graphic and post that in my public blog. This was back when I was writing this blog in lieu of writing individual relatives though, since then this has become my project, so if I no longer restrict my artistic aspect, even when it's incompetent, or untalented, or can't express my deep displeasure with the myriad of shallow pettiness that is modern politics with any more tact than shouting "Fuckers!" and throwing a towel at the TV.

Any way, I was looking over this other blog and a few things caught my eye. First the last post was in November 06, so it may be fair to call it dead. I read over a few of the the last entries and I saw two recurring narrative voices. One is just me in an episode of depression. The other is a self righteous little bitch who thinks he's better then other people because he's a self isolating judgemental prick. I won't deny that I'm fully free of this aspect, but I can say without ego that I have progressed beyond this earlier incarnation of myself. When I read the posts by this narrator I'm filled with the urge to kick him in the balls. Seriously, that kid needs a good kick in the balls and a good thrust out of his little narcissistic anger shell.

I saw one more thing which froze me momentarily. One of the posts had a comment. It was a post made in a state of depression, and part of me was afraid of what effect this pithy little rant could have had. Was it consolation? Advice? Perhaps it was another in my state seeking company in the depths. The possibilities were endless, what could it be?

It was a porn ad. That little sting of anti-climactic whiplash reminded me why I'm not supposed to read these things until I'm older and less emotionally invested in them.


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