mrjeffmccarthy.com

It’s been difficult to write lately; I’ve been too picky.  I’ve been to selective.  I have no time to be picky.  I’ve been trying too hard to come up with something emotionally sweeping, something simply fraught with import.  Fuck all that.  Writing for me should spout, flow from the fingers in a furious foray, shout out.  With words.  Fuck all that, too.  I need to throw a turd at the wall and hope it sticks, and doesn’t smell.  Everybody and his brother has a silly blog.  I think one that people read should be compelling and personal and raw and funny.  Sometimes offensive, yes.  Like humans.  Should it give information?  Sure.  Why not?  But what’s to prevent you, faithful reader of the blogosphere, from getting that information somewhere else?  The net is vast and boundless.  Information is truly everywhere, input available at any time and any place.  30 second clips and jpegs and words so many words swirl in a whirlwind none of these words will wind up heard.  Somewhere between Twitter and WordPress lies the perfect blog.  Random yet poingant, thoughtful or not.  Unique and engaging but quickly, please, I’ve got four tabs open.