Sometimes I wonder if my Blog really is as popular as I like to imagine it is. On most of these occasions I slouch into my chair and bury my tear-stained face in my cup of tea and wait for iTunes shuffle to cheer me up. This is by no means a long term solution to such a conundrum.
Are my paltry few readers really worth the quite staggering length of time I spend not writing essays or studying for my degree? My last inspection revealed that my profile had been viewed 304 times.
Most of these were probably me.
I sometimes look at the Internet as an enormous apartment building, a gargantuan architectural phenomenon imbued with the combined eccentricity of billions. No two rooms are the same and the entire community is in a state of anarchy. Socialists and capitalists live next door to one another. Feminists and misogynists share laundry facilities. Angst-ridden pubescent teens chronicle their heartaches while people like myself stagger past in drunken stupors, yelling about Greggs or the economy.
It is a beautiful concept, a rich tapestry of poetry and society, knowledge and smut.
But whereas , say, eBay is enormous, spanning infinite floors of this building and constantly filled to bursting with visitors, I, in my shabby little study, spend my time typing, flanked by piles of dirty mugs. My humble webular abode is as appealing as an art class with Hitler.
My Revised Testament, the crack-baby offspring of my Standard Grade study leave, was extremely popular. It became a bohemian online hangout for my nearest and dearest. It was a place where the walls of the Guestbook reverberated to the intense beat of the discussions held there. If I failed to update regularly I was fiercely reprimanded by my readers!
Those were truly the glory days of my Internet antics, when I was a presence to be reckoned with! The church even posted advertisements on my pages, although I seriously doubt they would have approved of the content. Looking back, it was not well written at all. Its humour was vulgar and relied on shock value. Once the novelty of a mock-Bible wore off it was a fairly empty concept, devoid of flair. Although, on closer inspection...even as recently as 14th November entries have been entered into the Guestbook by DARKTHRUST! As clouds of sweet tasting nostalgia begin to envelop me in their trance-inducing haze, I sigh a little.
Will this ever be as popular as the Revised Testament?
Have I, as an Internet writer, wasted my one chance at greatness on a substanceless turd, the main purpose of which was, let's all wake up and smell the shit on our sheets, an excuse to make Douglas the incestuous villain?
Alas...Perhaps that is the curse of the artist! His most well known work is always his most commercial arse-gravy. When he actually sits down and produces something with taste, with depth, with PASSION, it goes unnoticed.
As I leave you to stew in your own mental juices, your every neuron reeling from the impact of my textual tripe, I have only this to justify my appalling back catalogue of Internet publication:
"The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it immensely."
Jamie
P.S. Note how I capitalised "PASSION". That's technique right there.
Are my paltry few readers really worth the quite staggering length of time I spend not writing essays or studying for my degree? My last inspection revealed that my profile had been viewed 304 times.
Most of these were probably me.
I sometimes look at the Internet as an enormous apartment building, a gargantuan architectural phenomenon imbued with the combined eccentricity of billions. No two rooms are the same and the entire community is in a state of anarchy. Socialists and capitalists live next door to one another. Feminists and misogynists share laundry facilities. Angst-ridden pubescent teens chronicle their heartaches while people like myself stagger past in drunken stupors, yelling about Greggs or the economy.
It is a beautiful concept, a rich tapestry of poetry and society, knowledge and smut.
But whereas , say, eBay is enormous, spanning infinite floors of this building and constantly filled to bursting with visitors, I, in my shabby little study, spend my time typing, flanked by piles of dirty mugs. My humble webular abode is as appealing as an art class with Hitler.
My Revised Testament, the crack-baby offspring of my Standard Grade study leave, was extremely popular. It became a bohemian online hangout for my nearest and dearest. It was a place where the walls of the Guestbook reverberated to the intense beat of the discussions held there. If I failed to update regularly I was fiercely reprimanded by my readers!
Those were truly the glory days of my Internet antics, when I was a presence to be reckoned with! The church even posted advertisements on my pages, although I seriously doubt they would have approved of the content. Looking back, it was not well written at all. Its humour was vulgar and relied on shock value. Once the novelty of a mock-Bible wore off it was a fairly empty concept, devoid of flair. Although, on closer inspection...even as recently as 14th November entries have been entered into the Guestbook by DARKTHRUST! As clouds of sweet tasting nostalgia begin to envelop me in their trance-inducing haze, I sigh a little.
Will this ever be as popular as the Revised Testament?
Have I, as an Internet writer, wasted my one chance at greatness on a substanceless turd, the main purpose of which was, let's all wake up and smell the shit on our sheets, an excuse to make Douglas the incestuous villain?
Alas...Perhaps that is the curse of the artist! His most well known work is always his most commercial arse-gravy. When he actually sits down and produces something with taste, with depth, with PASSION, it goes unnoticed.
As I leave you to stew in your own mental juices, your every neuron reeling from the impact of my textual tripe, I have only this to justify my appalling back catalogue of Internet publication:
"The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it immensely."
Jamie
P.S. Note how I capitalised "PASSION". That's technique right there.
