Despite everyone's best intentions, my regulars really read this blog because they feel the connection with my fight with the Beast. Folks don't come to this blog for humor. They have MIST, and Q, for that. Folks don't come to this blog for a twist on daily reality. They have Mac and Fringes for that. Folks don't even come to this blog for tech updates. Gyuss covers all of those with a professionalism far beyond a tech reporter. They don't come here for the Restaurant/bar update. BD, The Barmaid, and Waiter Rant have totally got that covered. (And yes, BD, I'm one of your three regulars and I do put you on the same high level as Debra and the Waiter.)
People come here for the same reason they watch Nascar and read Susan and Kristina's blog. Folks visit here because they have homo sapiens deep ingrained need to watch a train wreck as it happens. The real thrill of watching racing is the off chance that someone eats it against a wall, or explodes in a spectacular fashion. They go because, there's a chance, if they are near, that they'll be an eyewitness to the train wreck, or be one of those fans that catch the free flying tire that bursts through the chain link fence will take them out, severing their head from their body.
Homo Sapiens has always had a singularly eccentric problem. If there is trouble,rather than running the other way, we'll be crowding the police line, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gore and death.
Nothing makes us feel more alive than straddling that thin line, adrenaline pumping through our veins, knowing that a single mistake will make us the object of the next crowd's entertainment.
Homo Sapiens has at least one inherent flaw. Our thirst for an adrenaline high supercedes our built in survivor instinct. The regular readers of this post are no different. They get a contact high from viewing the depths of hell. They don't want humor here. They don't want quaint little pictures. They want to see just how close I'll come to being overwhelmed and pulling the trigger. They would have their finger along side mine on the trigger, if they possibly could. Because my true readers deal with the same shit I deal with on a daily basis. They want to succeed with me, or, if that isn't in the cards, they want to watch the burning explosion of self destruction, and maybe, just maybe, avoid their own Ground Zero by a cunt hair, catching one small life line or another that I missed in the process.
So view to your heart's content, my regulars. Know that the daily fight goes on, and each day that I wake up alive, and breathing, is a salute to the hardiness of mankind. The will to live, despite the fact that everything in your life is telling you to eat a bullet. In the end, love conquers all. Even the will to live. Sometimes it is easier to die than to live without hope.
Michael
10 comments:
I'm on the train with you, darling. Perhaps you're actually on the train with me...
Relax, Michael and Susan. You are in good hands. I am driving this train. Enjoy the ride and buckle up.
lol, if mist is driving there's gotta be some good panda porn on the tube for you to watch.
:-)
You're on the train with susan? And mist is driving?I am soooooo jealous.
Thanks for the compliment by the way. check is in the mail. Don't sell yourself short. You have your share of posts that crack me right the hell up. I am sure there are some that may be looking for the train wreck but I doubt there are many.
BD
Sounds like a great new book title - Suicide on the Orient Express.
Clearly on some level we're on the train together, Susan.
MIST, they didn't bother to put seatbelts on the Polar Express to Hell.
Heather, they made me pay extra for the Panda Porn. Something about covering MIST's royalties, or shots, or something.
BD - next time put the required postage on the envelope. By the time I pay for gas to get to the post office to pay for the extra postage to pick up your check, I end up losing money.
It's obvious the 'chick is not updating frequently enough. Because she DID notice that she wasn't mentioned as the "go-to" place for anything. Except, possibly, non-updates.
PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT:
Chick is my Cell Mate. We're in the padded room together. She knows me better than almost anyone. I normally don't broadcast personal information like that, but she's feeling neglected, and justifiably so. She probably understands me better than anyone. So now you know........
...by a cunt hair...
That needed repeating for whatever reason.
Mac/Bice bit the blogging bullet, so it's all me for the twisted reality, baby.
Q is not that funny.
Nothing can happen until camel toe armor is ready for the market place. I've got venture capitalists lined up around the block ready to throw their money down.
As far as that kind of thrillseeking goes, I try to restrict myself to the luge.
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