The title of this post does not refer to my usual obsession with the great metaphysical question. Rather, when I ask ‘what is this all about?’, in this instance, I am referring to ‘blogging’. What is ‘blogging’ all about, in other words … what is the purpose of it? I have asked the question before and am yet to be furnished with a satisfactory answer.

It occurs to me now that there is no purpose, and this fits in nicely with my view of just about everything else (that there’s no purpose to anything but it makes us feel better to act as though there were), but I don’t know if I’m missing something.

I think my ‘blog’ (I put it in quotation marks because I’m not really sure that I’m allowed to call it that) is a sort of diary – a vague record of my day to day feelings. So I have no interest in ‘followers’ (well …. I’m interested in all three of you, of course, but I don’t count you every day) and I don’t pay a lot of attention to the potentially disingenuous notion of likes. I do enjoy comments, though, particularly the humorous jibes.

But I am aware that others might feel differently. I know that others see their blogs as a form of duty – an obligation of sorts.

I am aware of people who devote a couple of hours every day to their blogs.

Now ….. I am not being judgemental …. but seriously…. a couple of hours??? …. who has that sort of time???? Even since COVID reduced me to an unemployed bum, I don’t have that sort of time.

 

My friends at Apple (or is it Mr Google? I’m not sure) send me messages from time to time informing me that my average daily screen time for the week is 1 hour and 43 minutes – up 8 minutes from the previous week. This I take to be a warning – that a continuation of this habit will send me blind, or crazy, or both. And 1 hour and 43 minutes does sound like a fucking lot of time, I admit.

But there’s a fair bit that I have to fit into those 103 minutes. I like to read the newspaper (The Sydney Morning Herald, for those that might be wondering about my political persuasions) and I need some time to deal with emails (normally with the delete button).

 

As well as that I do like to put aside a few quiet moments to indulge in my own geriatric version of pornography – I like to look at pictures of boats that are for sale.

 

As was the case with the more conventional forms of pornography circulating during my youth, I confess to a degree of guilt about this. I am aware of the dangers. It is an obsession that creates unrealistic ideas of reality and has a similar potential to its fleshy and air-brushed relative of paving a path to bankruptcy (though purely fiscal rather than moral, in this case, I think)

 

But … if I do feel the need to confess about such things, then perhaps this is the place to do it. Perhaps, for me, a blog is a bit more than a diary. It is a confessional. There …. I have answered my own question. This space is my confessional. I understand if you choose to avert your eyes in disgust, but I thank you for listening. You should feel no obligation to reply, of course, because time is precious.

Two challenges in two days. I’m on a roll!! But like most good rolls, it’s all downhill. This one from Sammi who asks for something of 77 words. One of those words has to be wayward.

*****

You think me wayward

But on any day I could be

Just misdirected

Sometimes suspected

Of worse

But with this verse

I stand corrected

An attempt

At contrition

Submission

To a higher power?

Like a flower

So soon

In bloom

Reborn

Like a rose

That knows

Of the thorn

Making one suspicious

Of the delicious

Poison in the tips

These swaying hips

A dance

A chance

To be played with

Decayed with

Lust

Mistrust

Disgust

Can’t you see?

A way

To be wayward

With me

*****

Let me further indulge my occasional morbid tendencies – though clearly I am not the only one going down that path, today. I am inspired (not for the first time) by Stoner. I particularly like her words ‘dry as a twig’, for some reason. Suddenly I can’t imagine anything ever being drier than that.

*****

 

Look with love

From above

As I lay alone

Bits of old bone

In the dirt

No more hurt

No eulogy here

No fear

Of a ghost

I loved you most

As I died

And you cried

Showing me

That knowing me

Had been real

And making me feel

Loved at the end

But let’s not pretend

It’s the end, too

For you

So laugh once again

Remember me when

You’re not alone

A new love of your own

Sing a song

Say ‘so long’

Misbehave

Dance on my grave

*****

I don’t really know what this one is about. Somebody else can decide.

I’m not much good at challenges, and this is no exception. But it tumbled out anyway. I blame these people

*****

Let that world be

Just distant voices

Other choices

Other promises

Made

Another life

Another wife

Words that cannot be unsaid

Let me now travel instead

To hidden places

Finding traces

Along the way

Of love

Here and there

And no words to say

Let me look from above

At your toes

At your hair

Are you there?

Do you care?

Let me be

Inside

And find

A key

To throw away

Forever

So that everyday we may

Stay

Locked

Together

*****