The journal I’d kept for four years at journalspace.com recently went kaput. Irrevocably kaput. Something about cyber-sabotage and failures to provide decent security, blah blah blah. Who cares? I wasn’t married to the place or anything, but I did lose a lot of stuff I wish I’d saved before the crash. And if I’d known the world was going to come to an abrupt end, I might have liked to say goodbye to a couple of fellow travelers there.
Or maybe not. I’d gotten to where I hardly read any of my favorites at that site, except for a couple folks I’ve met or talk to sometimes. People don’t read blogs anymore, hardly. MySpace and FaceBook have taken over cyberspace, even though they’re shallow.
People are shallow. That’s why those sites are popular. People adore shallow, self-aggrandizing websites where they can post carefully vetted pictures of themselves and hope someone will come along to drool over them and tell them how hot or funny or wonderful they are. A lot of frickin’ effort goes into profile pictures, especially — you can bank on that. My problem is that I think about the process of getting that picture, and it ruins the whole thing for me. Like, when I look at most folk’s profile pictures, I think about how they probably took six or seven shots of themselves in the same pose, and the one I’m looking at is what they considered the best one. The whole thing’s a total embarrassment for all concerned. I don’t want to see people engaging in public acts of narcissism: it’s like walking in on someone masturbating.
Everyone does it at some point, I guess. But you know what no one ever does? No one ever posts a really awful picture of himself with one eye closed or his mouth open sideways or or anything grotesque or weird like that. It’s sad, if you bother to really think about it. How people mask their humanity, I mean.
If I had my wish, everyone would go to bed with wet hair, toss and turn for eight hours, wake up and have someone else take their picture before they even have time to rub the encrusted sleep from their eyes. And that would be their profile pic. That would really be magic. That’s the kind of profile picture I’m interested in. I don’t want to see a fictional projection. Don’t try to sell me on who you think you are or who you’d like to be. Don’t glop on a lot of disgusting smelly makeup or waste a bunch of hair gel. Let the camera tell the truth before combs, coffee or conceit take hold. Give me the straight dope. People never give you the straight dope. They just keep lying, especially online.
In a perfect world everyone’s profile picture would be taken during that three or four minutes of the day when every human being feels drunk: when they first wake up. And that would be so refreshing.
Anyway, Journalspace is dead and I guess I’ll set up shop in new digs at wittenberg95.wordpress.com. I thought about posting some things from the old blog — a few things I’d saved, I mean. Just stuff from years past that was pretty demonstrative and got people all riled and crazy. I’ve got a talent for agitating people with my writing, which is pretty sorry as talents go. I wish it wasn’t so, of course. I mean I don’t think I’ve ever written anything while trying to piss people off. It just seems to happen, especially when I write about relationships or religion. But really, what else of importance is there to write about?
Anyway, I decided against posting anything from the old blog. Let it die, I say. God’s will be done. I’ll just start fresh. Maybe I’ll start with a story.
That’s it. Short story coming soon.