So here I sit on top of my blog, having counted randomly fifty albums, fifty books, and upwards of fifty concert recollections and I'm left with the question, "What next?"
If I trick myself by writing about a book, album or concert I have no problem revealing details of my life that occur to me. But if I sat down to merely expose my past I'd immediately clam up and say that I am too private to do something like that. This after almost three years of sharing very intimate realities from every phase of my life.
I won't write about film or actors because I don't feel as if I can be truly objective. I am way too firmly on the side of the actor to do that. I champion anyone who has been able to make a living doing this. Even if I personally do not respond to their work I will publicly be positive. Those who know me will scoff at this because I've certainly been brutal in my assessments when talking about actors and actresses but to quote a great song by Del Amitri...
So I can curse her memory
But don't try telling me
That she was not an emerald
In a mountain of coal
In other words, actors are my people and I'll defend 'em. Even the ones I abhor.
All of this is a long-winded way of saying that I've reached another cross-roads here, a point that I knew was coming once I started the 50 Books List. I knew once I finished that list that I'd truly be at a loss as to what this blog would look like. Or if it would continue at all.
I've challenged myself to be more productive as a writer this year but those goals are not centered around this blog. I started writing here to train myself to write every day (or as close as I could come to that). The idea was always to take that skill once I'd acquired it and apply it to something that could actually line the deep echoing hollow of my long suffering wallet.
I've made inroads in that regard that I'm attempting to rile up blood lust to pursue. I have a competitive streak a mile wide that was always engaged by the business of show and since I've been removed from that process to a large degree the killer instinct in me has been champing at the bit. Unfortunately that instinct turned against me for a time when it had no outlet and I've had to do some restructuring in order to keep that from happening.
Now that I've really begun to channel those energies in a different way I've been slowly gathering steam.
Again, all of this is just a way of articulating a kind of farewell to this space. I am not even sure how many regular readers I have. The most comments received by anything I've ever written turns out to be spam generated ads for Asian porn. But I have been very grateful to the people who checked in with me to hear what I had to say. Knowing that there were possible ears and eyes really does transform your writing. Even if those eyes are Japanese school girls.
So I'm gathering my inner town council, my commemorative committee, my artifact collector, my journalist, my crazed artist, my family man and I'm thanking them for having contributed souvenirs to this gleaming cube buried in my backyard for future generations.
I am saying, "This is what it was like for me near the end of the Oughts as I looked back all the way to '69."
My life began as men walked on the moon for the first time. Today I sit and type these words out into the ether, perhaps turning my back on this blog, a thing that isn't really a thing, a thing that didn't exist when I was born.
I feel truly fortunate that I happened along when I did. Thanks for reading.