As suspected, readership for these posts has dropped substantially. No matter any attempt at keeping them fresh and interesting, the repetition of the same title, seen every day, day after day, begins to feel like a visit to the DMV; something you avoid, if at all possible.
At first, there’s a compulsion to at least open up the post . . . which eventually degrades to just glancing at it in the Reader and tossing it a quick Like . . . and that progresses to skipping it for the day but telling yourself you’ll catch up with it later. The process is mature when you’ve accumulated five or more posts and now have the justified excuse that you don’t have time to read them all. You’ll wait — even as the number continues to climb — until that mythical day when you’ll have many, many hours to do all these accumulated unread posts justice.
Of course, if that day ever comes, reading these posts is going to be way down the list of things you want to do. Perhaps next year then, or perhaps when Project 626 starts up . . . yeah! That’s it! The next project! For sure you’ll read every one of those posts. Meanwhile, where’s more kitten photos?
Here I caution readers to not assume I am complaining, claiming victimhood, or in any way using reverse psychology to bolster my readership. Nope! You do whatever makes you happy and don’t worry about me . . . I’ll be fine . . . no, really. I’m used to being ignored and spend my time alone. I even
tell myself I like it.
OK, seriously . . . if you are a new reader of my stuff, or even if you are old and grizzled, please understand that I’m joking. People being mortal means they are forever looking for new and exciting stuff and — by definition — more of the same is not new and exciting. I knew readership would fall.
Plus, remember what I said: these posts are for me. I enjoy creating them and I’ll enjoy re-reading them long after their memory has passed from the awareness of the casual visitor to this blog.
Don’t believe me?
How many old posts of mine do you read each week? I mean, there are more than 1,900 posts spanning everything from travel to photography to commentary to fiction writing.
I thought so . . . zero. I, on the other hand, still enjoy looking back and reliving parts of my life and my thinking and my creative efforts. Think of this as a diary . . . you might occasionally get curious and read the latest entry, but I have a different impetus for both writing these and other posts; it’s to eventually look back at them and bask in their seldom-recognized and not fully-appreciated brilliance.
Yes, I kid. About the brilliance part; I do go back and read stuff and I’m always amazed at how such mundane offerings can still capture my interest.
And now, the photo:
That’s a carving from a native craft demonstration at the Place of Refuge. I would normally link my past posts about the place but that might now be misinterpreted as me begging people to read my old stuff. Nope. Not going to do it. I will, however, link to the National Park entry.
I’ll (probably) do a post with photos from my latest visit (last week) but only because I got some different photographs I think are worth sharing . . . with myself.
Here’s another Mr. Boffo cartoon. There’s deep meaning behind the superficial joke.
Few people (read: religious people) seem to stop and ponder about the meaning of eternity. Hint: it’s a long time. You think waiting at the DMV is long; ha!
I refer, of course, to this supposedly comforting idea (to some people) that we get to live on after death . . . but not just live on. Live on forever. Depending on arbitrary and ever-changing criteria, you might spend your time in hell (the equivalent of waiting at the DMV) or bask beside beaming beatitude (the equivalent of smelling fresh-fried malasadas) but in either case, it will be forever.
The thing is, as much as I like malasadas, I might occasionally want something else. The idea of malasadas forever — or anything forever — bores the crap out of me. Conversely, all indications are that pain is measured as change from the norm. Meaning, after a time, a given level of pain becomes bearable and perhaps stops registering as pain. Obviously, if the pain is great, it would take a long time for the condition to “normalize” . . . but forever gives you all the time you need. I’m guessing that eventually, you’d be juggling burning hot coals as you relax in a vat of boiling oil.
Then again, based on current theology, it’s not entirely clear what exactly lives on. Perhaps the christian (and other religions) afterlife is nothing more than the equivalent of homeopathic immortality where an imagined essence of individuals persists and continues forever . . . sort of like political stench.
Anyway, something to ponder; I hope it doesn’t unsettle you.
Occasionally, people do feel unsettled. Sometimes, it’s the political stench, but other times, people can’t put their finger on it; they can’t describe it or even express it by other means.
I can help; here’s a graphic representation of it . . . Dark Forces Taint The Canvas Of Life.
And . . . that’s it
Some of these posts will likely be longer as the mood hits me, but most will be thus; short, uninteresting, bland, and relentless.
You can read about Project 313 HERE.
That’s it. This post has ended . . . except for the stuff below.
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. . . my FP ward . . . chieken shit.
Finally, if you interpret anything on this blog as me asking or wanting pity, sympathy, or complaining about my life, or asking for help and advice, know you’re likely missing my subtle mix of irony, sarcasm, and humor.