So I guess I wasn’t meant to write a blog. It’s the eight of November and nobody has read this for a month; so much for this idea and so much for the experiment. I’ll admit I was optimistic at first, but see how far optimism gets me; about four inches from the door. It is really daunting when someone does an entire article on trick questions to measure the common sense quotient of the American people and everyone reads that yet nobody ever knows about my own stuff.
“Can you end a sentence with the word ‘the’?”
Heh, funny; I was dead tired and still got in within a New York minute. That’s just one of many things that’s been bugging me but then anyone who may stumble on my blogging will figure that out easily, if indeed this thing doesn’t get shut down do to my own neglect. Of course another fault of mine is holding back. Sometimes you have to hold back or you turn into a complete idiot making absolutely no sense or alienating everyone who’s around you.
The world fucking sucks and hurts, yeah, I God damned get it, but once, just fucking once, I wish I could grab that glimmer of hope and ride it until I die. Sometimes it just makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell, if I get that last chance, that it is a chance and not be too stupid to let it walk away in anger before I realize I missed my ride for the last time. I’m not surprised that this blog has turned to the way of almost anything else I’ve tried to do; an epic fail. Makes me wonder why I still try to write at all if it isn’t going to get me anywhere. (This includes the books, of course, which have be barely bought by anyone out there.)
Voice of nothing seems to be my title.
So I’ll put down introductions I’ve written in the past for my books that I’ve published or not, at least they find a home, maybe finish this one serialized story that I started back in the day and put here on this blog, maybe even post a bad poem here and there, but as it stands with a constant post with this blog, put a fork in this steak because it is done. The only way it can be resuscitated back to life if people actually read it and comment. Even if it’s a “fuck you” comment, by now, it’s something rather than nothing. Sorry to be a sour puss but this was not meant for me alone to read.
H.R. Green, 8th of November 2009, 9:45 p.m. Burtchville, MI
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