I began blogging before the word had become part of the common vernacular. In the early days, people wrote about their day – their life. Online journals formed the basis of LiveJournal, DiaryLand, and Blogger. Most people carried brick mobile phones, and connected to the internet once or twice a day via a screeching black box that trickled text onto the screen of a hulking beige tower in the corner of the room like a leaking tap.
People have become obsessed with traffic, followers, tagging, and any number of other pointless escapades. Writing online has become the Emperor’s New Clothes. Everyone has been brainwashed to believe that their sentences should be short, snappy, and direct. Forgive me for saying it, but that’s a sausage machine, and all they’re good at is churning out the same crap – again, and again – predictably.
Who wants to be predictable? Who wants to be the same?
I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this – but perhaps that’s the point. What you’re reading is almost a direct transcript of the thoughts that left my head, rolled through my fingers and appeared on the screen. The improvised stage play versus the edited movie.
By wrestling your way through my meandering streams of thought, you get to know me a little better than most. Conversely, if all you post to the internet is photos of your cat, quotes from philosophers, or the re-blogged thoughts of others, I’m never going to know you. And here’s the thing – if you let me know you, we might become friends.