Worst, I think, is knowing that a very small thing has set off this chain of questioning. Something that, really, has no right to exist in any world inhabited by equals yet is quite common to this strange internet world in which we interact. Better, I think if I expose my stupidity and tell you what I’ve thought, or rather, felt lately. Better than my usual self-recrimination without explanation of the circumstances. Won’t it be nice to know what I’m actually talking about for once? You can tell how embarrassed I am for my foolishness by the way I’m trying to delay saying this and saying it straight. Oh hell, here we are. Lately, I’ve felt that I haven’t had the right to comment on (honesty, honestly) certain blogs. That anything I could say was too foolish, too un-intellectual, and just too banal to be allowed. Given the forum the irony just about cripples me. Amusing, also, is that I have quite a long, obviously, shared history with the blogs I regularly comment on. Quite a lot of you have been around since the very beginning of this waste of time, energy, and internet space – and I thank you all and adore you for it but, seriously, have no idea why you keep coming back you sicko-pervs and I am no longer sure why I am so reluctant to engage with you in other forums. It’s been just about two years so I guess we know each other pretty well by now. I didn’t realise it had been so long (look how little I’ve moved on in that time!). But enough of that, mutual admiration societies, or, in fact, any gratuitous admiration is quite distasteful to me. I get embarrassed easily, both for myself and for other people, and cannot stand over the top, or even wildly understated, displays. All of which is off topic.
What could possibly have led me to feel that my crappy contributions were totally worthless? -oh dear, that’s a little strong. This is something I’ve thought about and keep thinking about and haven’t quite come to an end that I’m happy with. Most of it, of course of course, comes from the inadequacies I feel within myself and the resentfulness I may sometimes feel towards others for my inadequacies. I write crap, quite often, both on my blog and on others. I often write without having read the full text and about some off the cuff thing that amused me. But I guess you know that. It’s taken me a bit but I’ve finally worked out that either other bloggers are the nicest people ever, complete whores when it comes to their blogs (oh I know you are), or they don’t mind my ways. If I really annoyed anyone I’d pretty much expect to hear about it, fast. I certainly don’t look for conflict and won’t enter into it – hence the lack of politics on this blog, please forgive me for my cowardice and, perhaps, the inherent dishonesty of not discussing something I am quite interested in and rather passionate about but I don’t have the time and energy for the crap that goes on whenever politics is mentioned in blogs. When you think about it, there’s a lot I don’t mention in my blog. I generally don’t talk about my family, I may mention them but I don’t discuss them and I don’t tell their stories. They are, I believe, unaware of the existence of this blog and in the interests of not hurting them I’d rather keep it that way. I mostly don’t talk about my real life friends for much the same reasons. I don’t talk about the books I’ve read or am reading. I don’t do reviews. I don’t critique the world. Well, I kind of do but on quite a small scale. Actually, having just flicked through some of my blog entries not even I’m sure of what I write about or why I keep bothering. I’d quite like that to be my epitaph: Not sure why, but kept going and going and going on. I think mostly it’s been a kind of therapy as well as the obvious vanities that are at play. I mostly just talk about myself – what a surprise. It’s been pointed out to me before that I don’t really write about anything and, you know, I’m pretty cool with that. Life is essentially random and meaningless anyway and I quite consider myself as a very subtle critic (both a joke and an out and out lie).
Anyway, the point is that I don’t pretend to be intellectual, or an intellectual, I certainly don’t write as such and I don’t comment as such, I don’t pretend to know everything or, in fact, anything. Age brings me nothing but the assurance that anything that I do think I know will probably be disproved eventually and that there is so much to know that I could never know even the smallest part of it. It doesn’t stop me from being interested or exploring the world or the knowledge of the ages but it does stop me from thinking that a) I am ever original, b) that I know anything that someone else doesn’t, c) that I should discount people who haven’t read what I’ve read, thought what I’ve thought, or who don’t think what I think. I have trouble with point ‘c’ but only in some instances. I don’t need to be superior to anyone. I don’t need to be more intelligent than anyone. I frequently feel quite the reverse. I generally approach life as a kind of joke and I’m still waiting for someone to jump out and scream ‘surprise’ (I shall feign knowledge and detachment, of course). As it happens, I’m not terribly fond of people point scoring off me to make themselves, apparently, look better. Given how paranoid I am and that I know how paranoid I am it takes a while for me to notice such things and to be much inclined to do anything. Not that I’m much inclined to do anything but stay away and, um, rant (large letters, please) on my own blog about my likes/dislikes my inadequacies/perceived inadequacies and well, anything I fancy. However, I don’t like the idea of staying away.
As a final note, let me say that it isn’t necessary to assume that because I don’t react that I don’t see. In fact, persistence at this point is very poor form. I prefer if people who don’t know me really don’t assume that they do from a handful of random comments or even blog entries – I shall also attempt the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure that we are all far more and much better individuals than we sometimes appear. Otherwise, well, my magnanimity is at an end. It’s pretty pale and underfed at the best of times.
So, who’s for booze?
 Let me just say now that I am not about to name names or name blogs. Nor do I need a rebuttal or excuses or any kind of anything. I am aware of my own foolishness and I will not allot blame to any but myself. I have been a fool and I will wear that. I am often a fool and I’m pretty okay with that too.
 It was once pointed out to me that such thinking is universal paranoia, that there is nothing organised enough to cultivate such a lengthy joke, well, aside from our own brains, of course. He’d clearly been reading too much Douglas Adams though, smartarse.