i lied

remember, teddy bears equal sincerity

I lied, or at least I changed my mind. When I wrote the first posting on Psychotic Reaction I made it clear that I had no interest in wallowing in the kind of self-obsessed prattle most blogs engage in. While I’m sticking to that commitment there, I can’t help but feel the pull of exhibitionist self-analysis. As such, I’m creating this extra blog as a safe place to dump all my more selfish and self-important writing.
There is a consider feeling of power in creating a totally contained forum like this, a corrupting sense of authority. I once dated a blogger, who aside from endlessly dragging our relationship into the public arena on her website, reacted to the inevitable dumping of her by focusing far too much space of her book to trashing me. Setting aside the degree to which her book distorted or outright lied in it’s depiction of me (setting aside for the time-being-we will be returning to this particular vulgarity in the future, I promise), I kind of understand the compulsion to use the free internet stage as a place to savage your enemies and exercise your demons. That this specific girlfriend exerted so much energy to a relationship that didn’t last a full three months…well, that part reflects more on the teller than the tale.
A lot of the tone of blogs, journals and e-diaries leaves me cold; Dave Barry is not a writer I hold in high-or any-esteem, the loss of Erma Bombeck’s life was the written word’s gain and I’ve never found myself reading the comic strip “Cathy” and nodding my head in knowing agreement. What’s more, the entire “sweetly irreverent” school of wit that’s found a home amongst bloggers confuses and depresses me: is it really that funny to fix the suffix “oholic” to every minor vice you might have? Do you seriously mistake yourself as clever when you begin every entry with “what’s the deal with…”? What’s more, plenty of us watch the monologues of late-night talk shows, so rephrasing the observations of Conan O’Brien or Jimmy Kimmel does not make you appear funny. I’m sure if I could suffer more than thirty seconds of “The View” without wanting to yank my eyeballs out and stuff them in my ears to shut out the infernal screeching, I’d find the source for even more recycled humor. And now that that inhuman monster Rosie O’Donnell has returned from her netherworld lair, I expect even more warmed-over bon-mots of tired observation and timid stabs at complaint will work their way through the internet, like a tapeworm through an Appalachian child.
I’m keeping this particular blog low-key; I’ll link it from the main site, but I have no intention of drawing attention to it. It’s only purpose is as a catch-all for any observations, memories, complaints or ideas that can’t reasonably be put on Psychotic Reaction. I do suffer a sense of disproportionate importance, a grandiosity of spirit that threatens to burst forth in all the pixelated glory.

let the child within capture the dream, or some such nonsense