Five Years

It occurs to me that five years have passed since I started this blog. The project started, in earnest, as a way to bring my enemies down a peg and woo ladies "teleblognetically." Obviously I have failed in in those efforts, but what have I actually accomplished in that time?

Word up:

• Writing a double-dactyl
• The craft of self-aggrandizement
• Endless listery
• Racism
• Mustard
• Perfecting my recipe for stream-of-conciousness pancakes
• Creating my own religion
• Making complaints not really worth writing about
• Alienating you, dear reader

I couldn't possibly explain why I've kept up this weblog for an audience of none. And stranger still, why I have this feeling that this project is far from finished. That I'm just as far in as I'll ever be out.  What do I hope to gain from this? Why am I here? Where is that pussy I promised myself? And are those Anna Nalick lyrics?

To all those questions, I can only supply what I promised at the outset; a resounding "go fuck yourself." There are no answers on the ground I tread. Nor is this wall of text climbing into the sky a magic beanstalk.

But it is a calendar. And looking back over the past five years, I see what this this blog is: a tree in a vast forest, stretching its arms to the sun, growing by only the smallest and imperceptible progress, and living in silent fear of an inevitable axe or chainsaw.

(Perhaps one day the forest will be felled altogether, in a controlled blaze or brushfire. But that would be at best, stretching the metaphor, and at worst, needlessly apocalyptic.)

So, I'll keep at it for another five years, and maybe longer if I haven't grown up by then. If you have any objections, go fuck yourself.

Your pal,

Harvey Kornbluth