What is the point of a blog?
I don’t know if there is a point. I know people must think there’s a point, or they wouldn’t have blogs. Fine then. What is the point of this blog?
Nothing, I suppose.
For years (on and off) I’ve had a diary that I imagined was being addressed to a version of me that was 40 years older. That did not last very long. Then I had individual people reading it, like a blog intended for an audience of one. That did not last very long either. Then I stopped.
This is, I think, the natural progression of my glacial advance towards an actual blog. That is the point.
Not a very big point, I give you. Not even a very pointy point. It’s just. The state of affairs at present.
I am (to myself, at least) an incredibly lazy person. I have ideas for things to write that I never get around to. I have rants to vocalise that I never looked for an audience for. I have never actually graphed any of the oodles of things that I say to myself I will graph (you’ll understand eventually).
Why should you read my blog? Good question. Don’t, actually. I think there’s something poetic about writing for writing’s sake. And the fact that this is a blog that you can read is by no means a reason to actually read it. I’m used to writing to silence, manufactured though that silence may have been. I’ll feel at home. Or you could read it because you’re bored. That’s a good reason to do things. Boredom.
What will I be talking about? All things dry and sundry. Things I think are clever. Things I think are sad. Things I think are cool. Things I think are infuriating. Things.
How often will I be writing? Well. I honestly don’t know. Whenever I feel like, I suppose. Or every day. We’ll see.
Who am I? I hate this question. Next.
Oh, is that it? Good.
This was #1.