Why the Randomness?

Truly, this could be one of the defining questions of my life. I don't think I'll aim quite that high on a Saturday morning where my back hurts. That said, you may have noticed a dramatic increase in the frequency of my posts, as well as a bizarre hodge-podge of topics. In fact, this entire new "Book of Songy" lay-out as opposed to my thematic, subject-focused blogs smacks of some dramatic new change in direction.

I figured it was high time I address it, so that the subject would not keep you up at night.

... as I'm sure it has for weeks.

As my more dedicated readers (read: stalkers) will attest, I've gone about four years without any sort of regular posts other than the extremely rare musing on martial arts or stream-of-consciousness explosion. This was a vast departure from the previous decade, where I was generating content a few times a week.

The reduction process started for the most noble of reasons. I spent the bulk of my young life as a shameless attention whore. As I became a more seasoned... everything, I realized the error of my ways. On the advice of some people that I trust, I aspired not to say anything unless I had something really worth saying. For a professional bullshitter, such intentional silence is deeply educational.

That said, I allowed it to go too far in my own life. I got super picky, and eventually it got to the point where nothing got past the editor and onto the internet. In fact, my internal editor got so blood-thirsty that I could not even finish the first draft of a short piece before I threw my hands up in disgust. At the grim climax of this internal battle, I stopped writing entirely. That was about a year ago.

The current format and content of this blog are my way of trying to strike some sort of balance between my harsh, noxious, slightly fearful editor and that deeply hopeful, slightly mad inner child who likes to create words and blast them into the collective cranium of the internet (think flushing an M-80 down the toilet). I am forcing myself to create content and share it, even though I think that some of it is totally inane. (Let me defend myself here: I have not posted everything that I've written. I recently generated about 500 words on how to properly clean a coffee pot, and then decided that was even too boring for my most dedicated of readers. The fact is, there are just some topics that are so random that they don't merit sharing. I'm trying to cure a mental block, not commit the literary version of war crimes.)

This choice of tactics to address my problem comes from advice by one of my oldest writing teachers.

"Just write. There's no magic to it. Just keep sitting down in front of the keyboard and letting your fingers walk. Be as picky as you can, but ultimately realize that the muse comes only when she wants to. Like a beautiful and fickle woman, she can't be forced. Your job is just to be available at 3 a.m. when she happens to come knocking on your door."

So this is my version of putting on a pot of coffee and waiting for that difficult bitch to come staggering in from her wild night out.

The lack of adornment on the site and the stubborn refusal to properly package the content and organize it into tidy little neighborhood are all part of the psychological practice. If the inner editor/dictator gets too many options, I fear he will seize power again and institute a second draconian rule that is just as harsh and unproductive as the first was.

To this end, I am deeply grateful for your indulgences as an audience, and I deeply hope to create something rewarding in the future that will balance out all those times that you read my most passionate thoughts vis a vis coffee pot cleanliness.