so last night i gatecrashed a VIP dinner, attended by some of Sydneys hottest bloggers (on and off screen) to date. i had to dress up as a spatchock, with garnish all, just to get on the table... i was told the answer to a question that has plagued my mind since i wrote my first entry on blogger.
WHAT MAKES A STAR BLOGGER. WHY DO SOME CUT IT, AND SOME JUST DONT. and, six months down the track, i still had no answers, and no comments (if you exclude the 3 comments i bought through sex and bribery).
i post the same amount of entries here as on Myspace, and there, the land of hundreds of friends, thousands of lovers and millions of fans. i think my friend netwrok there is at about 4000000. here> maybe one. Myspace. its great, when i feel low, just log into myspace. there'll be ten commnets added, remarking my cunt, my tits, my sick sense of humour (little do they know, i'm not laughing). feeling a dash bored? fine. log in, there'll be three men, one woman and at least six boys from all states and colonies of the USA proposing marriage, porn opportunities, and manage et trois? menage et quad? never a dull moment on myspace. the instant ego boost.
but here! blogging? i'm realising theres more to it than tits and ass. because hell, i put that up here, and nothing! on myspace, put up a pic of some hotttt gals with fishnets and mirrors and (un)class, and watch the kids come a running, instant self gratifcation. and if no one has read your latest blog entry on myspace, just send out a bulletin notice "sexxxy new pics up, come and leave comments NOW" and hell, your set.
why oh why not here? at first, i thought the lack of interrest in cinammoncybele was my ramblings, my vain attempts to write something.. anything. tried some crap poetry, hell that died in the ass. tried to write about a big hardcore band, your know, the old namedropping trick....nope, nothing. then i thought, fuck it. maybe follow the myspace method, and jsut stick up some sexy pics of hotness. still nothing.
at a loss, i snagged a tip of where the coolcats of sydney bogging would be dining, and i snuck in, (no one ever suspects the spatchcock) and after the entre, and a couple glasses of red, these geekgods were ready to chew me up and shit me out. and so, as they chewed, with the razor sharp whit that we have come to revere them for, i slid down their tobacco stained throats (smoking. a must for any great writer, commentator or critic). as i start to enter into the digestive system, where all the news and gossip and filth of the day is consumed, processes and shat out as an insightful, bitter and twisted and more often than not enjoyable bog....ooops...bLog!
anyways, i just escaped the opening to that ever hungry cavern. i shudder to think of the indigestion and severe diorrhea i would have caused the blogger if they digested me (still as spatchcock). and then, i saw the light. a vacuum of light. sucked me in. and there i was. a beautiful place. perfect in all senses of the word. it was clean. and bright. and fresh. and open. and smooth. and ready. nothing. just waiting.
a blank page, waiting for the next blogger to come along and start writing, or thinking or drawing or screaming or complaining or loving or slaying or betraying. pages and pages, word after word, filling this blank space with stuff. we've stuffed the earth full with waste, and the air with gasses, its the natural progression to conquer the eternally expansive space of the internet. fill it with words. fill it with images. thoughts. dreams. dramas. contemplations. specualtions. interpretation. attention. whatever the drive, there is one reason. because there are few greater things in life than giving. or at least getting rid of. and thats what we're doing. throwing this thought out into the world, and hey, if someone catches it, cool. if not, whatever, theres plenty more space for plenty more crap. and hey, you cant spell blog without bog.
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