The Antiblog
Not linear, but spherical. Neurons don’t fire in a straight line, but all over the place, one chain leading in 30 different directions at once. Imposing order on chaos limits creativity. Go with it.
No fear. (I hate the no fear clause, because it means I can’t be concerned about audience, fret that people won’t like me, scramble for numbers, be overly meticulous, check, re-check, re-check, re-chick, Chicken Little, the sky is falling! what?! no anal-retentive stuff? no way! I need that stuff, baby, like a junkie needs heroin. The sky is falling! The sky is falling! The sky is falling! SHUT UP!) No fear.
This is the big box of Crayolas with the sharpener built-in, an infinite roll of newsprint on which to smear finger paints: the ultimate blank page. Stop whining already. Revel in it.
Stop thinking “blog.” It’s a mud-ugly word anyway. Say it: blog. Like a combination blob and log, a blob on a log. Shapeless. Indistinguishable from every other blob in this forest of fallen logs. Blah-guh. Blah-blah-blah.
When all else fails, sing. Tap dance. Laugh. Eat pizza. Walk the dog, cat, hamster, iguana, capybara, python, zebra or earthworm. Wear a fake mustache. Buy a rubber nose. Put Groucho glasses on everyone in the family, including the animals. Dig. Spit. Hop on one foot.
Comments are closed.
