My 1000th post on this blog network was queued to be a birdpost about an LBB. Observe it later today. This is no kind of celebration of my multifarious thunks, my grande historie of letters. So. Gotta think of a way to honor myself properly.
Remember when I was Great American Satan? God, that was so long ago. What an innocent child I was back then, cavorting in alpine meadows and singing to the little birdies. Lalalalala. But seriously, this is a good time to explain again why the name change. Great American Satan is derived from the words of Ayatollah Khomeini, as mocked by USian propaganda that was intended to depict the muslim world as uniquely backward.
It was islamophobic. I still proudly stand against almost all of the shit ayatollahs believe in, but can’t disregard the fact my country is the greatest purveyor of evil in the world. We genuinely fucked Iran for oil, for military adventurism, for capitalism – and most of the countries in the world besides. The only reason we regard Iran’s nasty theo-fascist ass as an enemy is because they beat us, and refuse to make Nikes like Vietnam does now, or give us sweetheart deals on oil like nasty theo-fascist Saudis. Now we’ve gone full fash. How could I mock anybody in the world who has a bone to pick with us, no matter how shit they are? This bone must get picked.
But back to the real subject at hand: Beauteous I.
How do I love me? Let me count the ways. Didja know Edgar Allan Poe was Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s biggest fanboy? He had some over-the-top praise for her, at least. History seems to have validated his opinion; the average fool remembers some of her words, if not her name. She’s well known and well regarded in her field, I think. Poets correct me if I’m wrong.
I have to think that blogging will never rise to the level of famous prose and poetry because of the disparity in effort, and this is a good thing. A blogger might have a bon mot go viral, especially masters of microblogging, but few posts will outlive their moment. How many can you remember? PZ’s Grenade, tho that was more about the circumstances than the craft. Intent! It’s Fucking Magic! by Genderbitch? Journalists of the dead tree variety, to the extent that exists, suffer a similar impermanence. I’ve seen journalism described as “writing on running water,” and it’s telling that I don’t remember with certainty who coined the expression or if I got the phrasing right.
Having a thousand posts of a blog, that is something of an achievement. It takes a special kind of self-regard to keep spitting the contents of your head into The Void, day after day for years on end. Most FtBers aren’t up to the task. Before I started using queuing to achieve a post per day, I wasn’t doing daily posts either. Often I’d miss a week or two, sometimes I’d miss a whole month.
And yet I was always more of a presence here than most of those sidebar characters. This I recognize as well in my writing group: I often do the writing activities, far more often than anyone else but my husband. He succeeds at noveling months more often than I do, but I have more morale for seeing the writing prompt events through. Everybody else? They try, sometimes, but it doesn’t even come close.
I am the champions, my friends. I don’t mean to denigrate my colleagues; I am simply wondering aloud, why is this so hard to do for so many? Why is regular blogging such a challenge? Since it’s the majority of aspiring writers that have this issue, I can’t regard it as something to be ashamed of. The freaks that post all the time, there’s probably something wrong with us. But I dig being that kind of freak.
So raise a glass for your humble Bébé Mélange. Life is indeed a gas, powered in part by satan and america and some flavor of greatness, as much as I’m trying to move past those things, generally. And read the next post for some bullshit about birds. You enjoy life. I’m watching you, and if you do not, there will be consequences. Everything is coercion now, it’s cool. Compulsory fun for you.
Take your medicine!
This is just random crapola. But then, that is the essence of blogging. I hope other people get something out of it, but I would definitely be doing it for myself alone, if I had to. The world needs my opinions, obviously. One day, in circling the trashfire like a confused turkey and poking at the mess, I will accidentally into the answer for Lasting World Peace, or otherwise solve the big intractable questions that have dogged us since time immemorial.
Be here for it. Thank you.
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