Notes on Writing

This re-intro into the world of writing is going to be, well, a little rough. Being out of the game for so long has certainly done a number on my brain, and I'm sure hammering out the atrophy is going to take some doing. SOME DOING, folks. 

The world hasn't stopped exploding or worsening since I last left notes on the page. In fact, some or many might argue it's a bigger nightmare than ever. Picking one thing to analyze, dissect, and reassemble is not gonna be easy. I think the only way I'll be able to do so is by typing into the machine. Typing until it reveals myself... 

What is it I have to say about, well, anything? I have plenty to say, but this exercise isn't about melting down a theme and reshaping it. Or, is it? I really don't know. 

C'mon. This is about the act of writing. This is about fleshing out ideas and pounding them into submission. Isn't it? I don't even know if I'm capable of that anymore, if I ever was. 

Do I monetize this? Is that even possible? After someone (who shall not be named) sabotaged the Google ads thing years back, I don't really know. And I'm no good at creating videos, so that's out. 

But seriously. There is major strife and endless pain and no end of issues to tackle in these musings. I could write about Twitter and its corkscrew dive into the toilet end of social media. I could write about billionaires and their pet projects and philanthropy as cover for destroying societies and the planet. I could write about global warming (see: climate change) and how that's making everything just that much more miserable for everyone. 

I could jot down a few things on politics and grievance as politics and both-sides-ism and all that. I could write about the ongoing fallout from the tRump years. I could talk about its causes (see: rich people not wanting to pay taxes, promoting libertarianism and the aMerican dReam, etc.). I could talk about the total lack of accountability for anyone named tRump or anyone who've chosen to circle and kiss his fat ass for no reason other than power. 

Or, I could write about Power for Power's sake, and that whole approach to governance. I could jot down a few notes on how one side has gone all in on this idea and will likely never return. 

What about fame or social media in general, the incessant desire to be internet famous or own others online, for no other reason than to splash around in the spotlight. Nothing is accomplished. Our worst impulses are fed, over and over.

"Yeah, you sure owned that ex-MMA douchebag on Tweeter, Greta. Now what?"

I could write about being a father, and how awesome and terrifying and terrible and incredible and boring and gut-wrenching and life-changing and situation-sealing it is, all in one. Has that been overdone? Probably.

Hmmm... am I any closer to nailing down a topic, a focus, a theme? Nope. 

I once said I am/was a generalist--a great cover for knowing nothing about anything. Absolutely worthless. Pitiful. 

There are plenty of things I could swirl around and try to transform into something witty. But I don't know if I'm even capable. I don't know if I have the gumption to pull something out of my butt and turn into something people would want to read. 

But that isn't what this exercise is all about, you madman. You are completely lost. You are floating in the ether, unmoored by anything resembling promise. That boat sailed, a long time ago. You're now (likely) beyond middle age and 30 miles southeast of something that masqueraded as potential. 

Am I talking to the reader anymore? No. Remember, this is all for me, right? Fuck the audience. Fuck the demographic. 

It's getting hostile in here. HOSTILE. And you really shouldn't capitalize that word unless you're composing a ransom letter or teasing the police from afar in a serialized murder mystery. 

All this writing and I still haven't narrowed down a theme. It's not really a lot of writing though, is it? At least it doesn't look like a lot in the word processor. And unfortunately, there's no word count ticker at the bottom telling me when I've hit some random threshold and should stop. 

That's what I need, right? A program constantly monitoring how much I've written, with red lines appearing underneath everything my fat fucking fingers misspell as I waste away what little time I have left typing things onto a screen in the multiverse. 

What about our bankrupt culture? I could certainly analyze that in these musings. Or, how about mediocrity? I certainly know A LOT about that. 

Notes done, for now. I will return with, you guessed it, more notes. 

Told you it would be crummy. I warned you. If you read everything up to this point, it's your fault for not heeding that warning.