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be random what is now when is then where is email who i am how it is why it is leave a note? share me, share you make me smile thank you other journals (of course I should be sleeping) (what's life got to do with it?) about me (too much to know at once) friend? (tic tic tic, toc) BE MY GUEST (BOOK) << MISSING �SOMETHING? >> the bottom line who can when i had the time the first of december (has another song) what i do < ? me # > < ? harrychapin # > < ? Random Acts of Journaling # > < ? Poetic Voices # > < ? The Write Club # > < ? Nights Awake # > < ? Fluid # > < ? Adopted # > < ? Childlike # > < ? Poets-Muse # > < ? Five Hundred # > < ? As You Wish # > temporary place holder ()))CRAYON-BOX)))> published blogmad! varb? �2015 CANDOR COMMUNICATIONS IF YOU WANT TO USE THE WORDS FOR ANY REASON TALK TO ME |
confessional I was yelled at recently (ironically by several long time readers and online friends, so following the where there is smoke there must be something worth inhaling, or at least sniffing out and paying it some attention theory, I investigate) for writing about (and praising and worshipping and giving lots of wordy attention to) some diary and journal writters who apparently do not know I exist, or worse, do know I exist and simply ignore me and don't have me on frinds or favorites lists or mention me lovingly (or at all) in their diaries or journals and because I respect the voice that was in my face (it was actually a good dose of tough love, so get back from any defender position you might have taken... as if I have a whole army of defenders out there, huh?)...
it could be that Egor, the maladapted ego, roams the web looking for popular (or soon to be popular) web people and mentions them a lot in the hope that they will take notice, find my riting irresistibly delicious, and sing my praises to all their many fans so their fans come and become my fans and everybody on the net (and off) starts talking about candora and what a wonderful writer is to be found at the various web addresses O place in my rambles... and then everybody sends lots of money and I can spend even more time rambling on cuz I wouldn't have to go to a regular job anymore (what?... you want to be a columnist for a major metropolitan newspaper with powers and abilities far beyond the mortal man?... ahem, and all)... on the other hand (slight of, and all), it could very well be that due to traumas I post stressing over, I am too burnt out to take any of the words I write too seriously, especially the falling in love and adoration stuff, and you fantaies about who I am give birth to something spacial inside that you want reciprocated and I have no idea any of this is actually going on until you bitch slap me into consciousness and I remember that sleep witing can be awfully serious business (that does not pay well at all)... but I do want to care, somwhere deep down, in spite of my nerve-wracking e key that is no a cut and paste operation which slows writing to a crawl and as if it's a disease the surounding keys, r and w,are starting to show signs of weakness and I don't even want to think about what is down that path, I try to respond to every personal email I can find in the thousands of pieces of SPAM (cuz of course, SPAM KNOWS!) for free vacations, book and CD clubs, contests and sweepstakes, charities, ministers of foreign governments and their wives who need me to smuggle millions of US dollars out of their country in a hurry, penis enlargement, breast enhancement, credit repair, new drugs, online degees, romance, age reversing, and every sort of porn imagined by any species in the universe... and I've been picking up my phone more and more often lately so the phone numbers out there are no joke (you want caring appreciation, it is out here... you want the real, pick up the phone)... I have been a poor reader... and I know I have sites and friends and readers over at LJ (and elsewhere) that I neglect and that is largely because the LJ site runs much slower on this old laptop than the DL site so I explore and spend a lot less time over there... so anyway (sometimes confession is not fun or worth the effort), besides my own moodiness, lack of time and sites that crash the laptop dying is the primary cause for my crappiness as a reader (but even if you truly touch me and wake me, I just might go back to sleep if I do not feel ready for the flood of emotional surgery and catharsis and upheaval and euphoria internal floods usually brings for me)... some of my favs are not visited because there is too much on the site for the video RAM on this laptop (some are not even listed for lack of time to explore)... a prime example of someone I would read every day if I had time and it her site came up on this laptop without crashing it is squirrelx and she probably does not even know I exist (hmmmm, did I just prove something?)... and what is just? (my head can be quite a blunt object)... the fact is, I appreciate constructive criticism and even the occasional bitch-slaps cuz I know I fall asleep and forget to show I care much more often than I want to and that can be very depressing for me when I wake up and realized how little I have actualized caring, so thank you (and this has broadened into a cummulative you now) for the literary prozac and stimulants (and just to prove that the universe has a sense of humor, as I was writing this randomly cicking on banners and links, this popped up (now am I really going to forget to mention who turned me on to that?)... hmmmm, did I just prove something else?... she deserves better too... so does my other reads at LJ... balancing the online and offline life can be challenging, especially when one seems to be much fuller than the other, you know... . o O ( eeeeeeeeeeeeee ) O o . and then there is this keyboard, which will hopefully be remedied somehow by the time you are reading this because the typos and obstacles are keeping me from typing anything coherent or uploading anything... cutting and pasting individual letters is a madness I'd not like to live through much longer... the babbler cries out, do something, dammit!... maybe it is just the actual proof that ultimately I am not here for the attention, but to fondle and caress and tickle and dance with words... and besides, I instinctively rebel against most rules for social order, for most are dumb, redundant, and even damaging as they are often based on irrational fear... and those of you who come close enough to get me to respond in email might know, but those of you who come close enough to look in my eyes might know better... what do I know, anyway? . . .
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I love you all for coming... for reading all these words for every click feels like more love (I know that sounds absurd) if I could only tell you... one thing more tonight I'd say I wish you could come home with me and be my friends for life |