I have a somewhat antagonistic relationship with my blog. It’s not a good friend. It’s a terrible friend actually. It’s more like a leach than anything else. And I say this because all it ever does is take and take from me. It pulls words from me whether I feel like it or not. I just can’t let it starve to death in the absence of my words, but I really don’t think I want so much to keep it alive any longer. I mean, this is one of those Tamagotchi toys all over again. Accept, this time, instead of a goofy looking pixilation of some type of creature, it’s a belly looking for my intellect; my thoughts and my dreams. It grows with each entry. It feeds on my intelligence. It expands on a diet of my mind. And I don’t like it. I don’t, because it doesn’t give back. It’s a silent house pet that feels like it could care less about you (despite the efforts you take to sustain it). It’s worse than the cat that could care less about the humans insofar as it needs the human to feed it to survive. The terrible thing about these blogs, though, is that with our without a steady diet of my dialogue, it will survive. It doesn’t even need me for that. It will be with or without me. Though I alone can cause it to become better (or worse, for that matter), to grow and attract attention, and become a little version of myself that I could never be: popular. This blog is my alias, or rather, just one of them: everyone’s got more aliases than they know what to do with. It’s an avatar, or it’s a stage name, or it’s an alias. Whatever it is, it is a poor reflection of me. And what’s worse, it takes and it takes and it takes and I am fed up with this relationship in which I get nothing back. But I suppose that any functioning relationship needs input from both sides to blossom. Friendship is a two-way street. Love is shared. Rape is forced. That’s the word I’ve been looking for this whole time! It feels like my blog RAPES me! I undress my mind just a little for it, and WHAM! it rips my whole psyche’s attire right off until I am somewhat bare and ashamed, and nervous and scared, and oh….it’s taking what it wants from me now. It’s pulling words from my pure and holy and innocent soul and doing with them what it pleases. I am just a source of intellectual stimulation, feeding my blog’s endless belly with all the mind-matters it can handle. And then it takes some more. Beyond what I thought I could bear or handle. And I am ravaged, and I am naked still. And I am bleeding from the encounter. What thoughts I have left are dangling from the forefront of my mind like shreds of meat and sinew, once having been strong, now laid waste. I. I. I. I. Is there still an I in there? Where are you self? Has the blog-man-monster stolen what you you had left? Be still. Be calm. Wait while the dying moment is laid to rest in it’s forlorn grave or 1′s and 0′s. I. I. I. I’s and You’s and Me’s And Us’s and Our’s and Their’s and His’s and Her’s. And if this madness does not subside, I might just delete the account all-together. TheDustWillSettle is stealing from me things I never thought I could lose. I am loosing myself to an alias, a rapist to whom I give most of what it wants willingly because I was born into an age where they haven’t yet taught us how to resist the digital…to deny the electronic access to the spiritual. I feel this one now, this moment of bloggery…it’s taken from me more than I thought I could give it. It’s pulled from me more than I thought I had. I am dizzy. My eyes are focus-less in their aloof looking. Strained they are. Tired, exhausted, ravaged. Blog…what have you done!?
Wake up. This is the present.
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