Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Self-portrait with ribs

Ever since I got this email, I can't stop thinking about it. I mean, I have thought of other things, but my brain keeps going back to it, worrying it like a bone.

I'm not sure what the guy meant in his email, but I took it to mean: "You're boring." Or something to that effect. But that's not really what he said, or meant. But sometimes it feels like that. Basically, he was saying my blogs were one way when I was writing about porn and sex, and another way when I started doing what has come after, and I have no idea what that is. What comes after.

So, in a way, I am bored. Bored out of my mind. When I have tried explaining the situation to other people, I have said stuff like, "It's like being a crack addict, and then not, and it's like, what, this is supposed to be fun, not being high on crack?" Only writing about porn was my little white rock. And the problem with little white rocks is that they aren't good for you. So you have to find something else. It's like I'm sober. And, man, is sober fucking boring.

But I did know that the only reason his email was sticking in my head was because he was right. I felt bored with blogging, and I feel bored with a lot of other shit, too, and I need to feel unbored. Because boredom is a choice. It is not a terminal illness. And I want this year, this life, this existence to be different.

So, thanks, guy who wrote email.

I am trying to do things that don't bore me. Things that are not the same, that are different, that are better. I get a lot of motivation from Penelope Trunk, who blogs like an assassin takes out people. Here: She smashed a lamp over her head.

OK, I've smashed my head into a cabinet, but, you know what? I didn't blog about it.

Oh, wait. Maybe I did.

It's like that stupid thing written on a wall near where I live. Do something every day that scares you. I'll do that.