For a Substack—perhaps. Or perhaps not.

Because, you see, I need to write.

In the absence of outward activity, I need to turn myself inward and write. Keep the ol' noggin active. Keep writing and doing and staying active, regardless of what crap may come out. You know that amongst the piles of drivel and shit that pour out of my fingers, a minor gem will be gurgitated. And I have to just close my eyes to the outside world and fucking do it. What's tougher? Closing my eyes to the critic in my prefrontal cortex and still fucking doing it.

Just checked out a post from an erstwhile friend who has, I'm certain, gone off and sought more intelligent pastures than mine. Sure, I outspelled her one year, but her writing prowess is well beyond mine. (Seriously. Check it. And enjoy searching throughout.) And even a genius (despite, to my knowledge, not being published) like her still outwardly quivers in awe before even loftier geniuses like David Foster Wallace (read her eulogy...well, among other DFW-related posts), so I know she gets it.

But on a more serious note, what frightens me lately is what feels like my brain starting to atrophy and lose its skill. I may be aging, but I can't be aging that quickly, can I? It scares me, and so I begin to rage against what I sense (hopefully wrongly) is the dying of the light.

As an editor, and inspired rather perversely by my recent evil run-in by ol' BD, I want to write more. About anything. Whatever. I owe it to myself and to those who may hire me.

I also need to keep on reading, but that's not what you're here for. I can do that on my own time. I'm currently reading a book called The Best We Could Hope For that is an utter waste of time and cerebral space and which I'm practically skimming to get through so I can enjoy better writing. (Perhaps some DFW, on recommendation by Gleemonex, she who told kids to get off her damn lawn decades before I thought to.

Why am I doing this? I'm contemplating getting started on a Substack. Knowing I will contribute to it on a rather irregular basis, I still want to put some part of me out there—something not censorious, censorable, or incensing, but thoughtful, perhaps occasionally piquant, and meritorious. The best of me, really.

I am human. I've been set on a pedestal over the years, and much of my adult life has consisted of evaluating that pedestal to be far too high, and of trying to clamber down from it and back to terra firm, where I feel I belong. It has also involved dealing with a lot of emotional upheaval from that. In essence, much of my life can be encapsulated in one sentence: I ain't half as good as they said I was. It's not necessarily a bad thing to not be "half as good as they said I was." It may have been a huge misjudgment on their part. In the process of becoming who I feel I am, though, I've done a number of things that have revealed my mountebankery, and from which I've subsequently recoiled and regrouped to be smaller, with a lesser effect on those around me. I suspect that, by the time my life is all done, I may have a circle of influence of one—though I hope not.

Wow. That's depressing. Hopefully me getting this out will be an act of catharsis on the level of No-Face eating that nugget and puking out everything it had eaten until it was its own sane, comfortable self again.

I may write some things that I may consider uncomfortable. I may publish some of those things. It may be more painful for me to do that than it will be for others to respond to them. They may be like, "feh...so he was once top in the nation. That's been decades, and anyone can go anywhere from there." I don't think many will see me beyond that. Again, not censorious, not censorable, not incensing. But who knows where it will go from there?

Anyhow, I will keep this blog as a middle ground. It isn't visible online, and only I am witness to what appears here. Others may see what I publish on my Substack, but only when I approve of what has been published here, then copy it up there.

*sigh* This has been a big few days. Amazing what happens when you open your mouth, let fly what feels true to you, then cope with the consequences when there is a disconnect between what you see and what others see.