2018: 3: 4

I started blogging in 2006.  I have probably written over 500,000 words on my blog.

The most viewed thing I wrote was called Who is Bob Merrill?  I think it has been viewed so highly purely because the title is something you might type into Google if you wanted to know who Bob Merrill was.  It’s certainly not a great piece of writing.  It is far and away the most viewed post though.

The only other post that gets any action is one I wrote about the band Flock of Seagulls.  People are always looking at it and leaving comments.

Bob Merrill I wrote in 2009.  Flock of Seagulls in 2012.

It puts things into perspective when you look at your stats.  How meaningless blogging is.  I have shared a lot on this blog.  Personal stuff.  Rants. Funny things.  Most people who read it regularly know me and can find out what I’ve been thinking on it.  Except they can’t.  I can’t say exactly what I’ve been thinking on this blog and that makes it a curated entry into my inner world.  Which makes it untruthful to a certain extent.

Also, I get tired of having opinions.  I get tired of saying I will do things and not doing them in a public forum.  I make grand statements but (a) who am I?  No one special, and (b) I never follow through.  My last stuff was about running and not drinking.  Fuck that.  I have stopped running.  Drinking is nice.  Who am I kidding with this shit?

It’s not good to feel like a hypocrite when you read your own writing.  I wrote the most honest stuff I’ve ever written on this blog about two months ago but then I took it down.  It was too honest.  It represented how I actually felt, and my view of the world, but most people don’t want to hear that, or process it, or they want to ask you questions or take you to a doctor.  This is how I am.

I say, “I will get over it” and “I’ll be fine”, but I am downplaying it so people don’t worry or feel bad.

Man of Errors was a good name I think.  I certainly make mistakes a lot.  My alternative title would be Middle-Aged Banality.  I notice when I go on-line now I just click on Trump stories.  Maybe you do it too.  I should stop.  I should never click on one again.  But the internet does that to us.  It has wonderful gifts, and yet I click on Trump stories.  It has wonderful gifts and I write sarcastic reviews of reviews.

What was the best sentence I wrote on this blog?  Out of the 500,000 words I think this is my favourite:

He was loved and felt unlovable.  That he was gentle and full of anger.  That he hurt people all the time.  That time was unrelenting.

It was from the post I took down two months ago.

Some people will regret that I am not posting anymore.  Remember though, it wasn’t really me.  It was me holding back.  Fudging.  I wrote that way to get things off my chest and turn my feelings and experiences into something beautiful, or pretty, or fierce.  Lie in other words.  There’s not much beautiful or fierce about my inner world.  Truly.

This prop to my ego.  This vanity project.  This tiny speck on the internet.  Let me tell you: in time, perhaps an hour, perhaps a month, you will have forgotten it.  It will be like it never existed.  Like I never existed.  Nothing lost.

As if all those words you read, and the author of them, was a dream.

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I wrote a book called Kaitiaki o te Pō