"This is Why I Write"

So here's the deal...

I honestly have no idea how often I'll keep up with this...or if I'll even keep up with it at all. I would like to maintain my resistance toward other things, like Twitter, so I figure this is the next best thing...and yes, I am discriminating.

Sometimes there's so much shittiness in this world...I feel like I can't take it, like my stomach's going to cave in and I'm just going to crap all over it...and that is what I'll be doing here, mostly. Otherwise, I'll be doing my best to keep up my monthly blogs and annual retrospectives. My life has been weird, and although I often take pleasure in sharing it with my closest friends, the main reason for why I write is to remember.

I'm beginning to feel less and less like MySpace is the place where I want to put up information about what's been going on in my life. Of course, I could definitely make my profile private, but I'm not up for the idea of shutting EVERYONE out quite yet...just most people. Therein lies my dilemma...and herein lies my solution.

When I get really bored I'll do one of two different things with this blog:

1 - I'll talk about an album I enjoy listening to a lot, try my best to explain why, and perhaps throw it up if I'm convinced that no else has ever listened to it.

2 - I'll complain about the lack of knowledge about our physical universe within the general public and do my best to debunk popular, ridiculous crackpot theories, and/or clear up any long-standing misconceptions. People need to fucking know shit. That's all I'm saying.

Otherwise, should I choose to be diligent in my efforts to waste my own time, you can expect non-stop, hypocritical ranting and raving, casual allusions to occasionally irrelevant pop culture references, digressions on how much I love this or hate that, pointless arguments that run to the point of absurdity and the beating of many, many, many dead horses.

I have yet to see the worst this world has to offer. The only thing that frightens me more than that...is complacency.

Twenty-Seven Years

The countdown started at some point when I was still in high school...probably when I was about sixteen. I sort of just remember deciding that I had too much difficulty picturing my life after a certain point, and that I had a waning interest in whatever followed. I was so disappointed with the way things were going already, I figured if I couldn't make them any better I would just continue to lose interest or something. Pretty morbid for a sixteen-year-old, I guess...

Naturally my parents thought it was fucked up, and kind of worried that maybe I was suffering from the same thing my mom has...but everything passes in time. Later on I explained to everyone that I would rather have my ashes sent up into space than to have them spread out anywhere here on Earth. It was my contention that a postmortem association between myself and anything and everything on this planet was unacceptable. I had finally made up my mind that this world does not make any sense to me, and although I might still want to live, I'd rather not have anything to do with it. Enter: The Astronaut.

From time to time some of my closest friends will still bring it up in passing...

"You've only got three years left," they'll say. And I laugh, because deep down inside I still feel the same way.