The Lord Knows I've Been Drinking

I must confess that I'm not that great of a blogger. Many ideas for good neigh, great blogs come into my head every day. By the time that I can get to a computer about nine hours later they've slipped away like so witty lines I've thought up before and have forgotten before they could be uttered. Why the introspection you ask? Well it has officially been one year since I launched my own official blog and attempted to excise from myself all of the thoughts that plague me all day long.

To be honest this blog has served its purpose. Although not every thought that plagues me has been excised I've been able to none the less express some of them and more importantly I've been able to share ideas and express myself or at least make the attempt, with others. This in and of itself has made it all worth the while. For its true that I've never much cared to make the effort until receiving some sort of reply from the abyss by way of Redfellow hovel, for which I'm grateful (regardless of logrolling and other whatabouteries).

This blog is a reflection of me. I don't have the discipline or the time to consciously craft an image for this vehicle. Though to be honest I'm glad its worked out like this. I've never been able to lie or produce falsehoods very well. I would like to think of my writings & inspirations as a mix of Pushkin's Charskii and Elsa Morante's Giuseppe Ramundo. Into this equation mix the last stanza of Bob McDill's song, Good Ole Boys Like Me:

When I was in school I ran with the kid down the street

And I watched him burn himself up on bourbon and speed

But I was smarter than most and I could choose

Learned to talk like the man on the six o'clock news

Though to be honest I don't even own a pair of cowboy boots and can't ride a horse that well (why would I want to?). Although it was poignant at my wedding that all the men were wearing them and my brother kicked me and said, "I told you so". Well life's a learning experience isn't it? On the recollection of my wedding I would like digress a little form the main narrative which has yet to be worked out and do a stream of consciousness flow here. I did have a Catholic wedding mass and though it wasn't two minutes in before I messed it up, the priest played along and things were going well with the exception of the redness on the back of my neck (it looked like I had a rash, but oh well). Then came communion and I remembered with stark clarity the message that my grandmother had imparted to me as I kneeled before the priest, which ran along the lines of, "Do not under under any circumstances chew the body of Christ" (for we believe in transubstantiation in lieu of consubstantiationn or the sacramental union of Luther). One must let the body of Christ dissolve on the tongue. Well that's fine, I could do that. That was until the priest gave me the blood of Christ. Christ! It was horrid and this coming from someone whose had moonshine & Hungarian plum brandy (which is actually rougher than the moonshine I partook in) amongst other less than smooth drinks. I broke the undissolved wafer in two and swallowed the body and blood of Christ. Scratch that, I attempted to swallow and found myself choking on the body of Christ, kneeling at the alter on my wedding day. My face turned red and I resolved that regardless of whether or not I choked and passed out I would not turn around let my family and friends see me choking. My face turned as red as my neck though I was eventually able to swallow. Happy Days are here again.

Once again as is a regular habit of this blog I find that once I've let my mind roam in search of a truthful tract it fails to return to me. That's okay, I've got no particular place to be I and rather enjoy just shooting from the hip so to speak.

But as to why I blog? That is the question of the post. It really comes down to Orwell and Why I Write.

Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on the grown-ups who snubbed you in childhood, etc., etc. It is humbug to pretend this is not a motive, and a strong one. Writers share this characteristic with scientists, artists, politicians, lawyers, soldiers, successful businessmen -- in short, with the whole top crust of humanity. The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all -- and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centered than journalists, though less interested in money.

Aesthetic enthusiasm. Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and their right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed. The aesthetic motive is very feeble in a lot of writers, but even a pamphleteer or writer of textbooks will have pet words and phrases which appeal to him for non-utilitarian reasons; or he may feel strongly about typography, width of margins, etc. Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.

Historical impulse. Desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.

Political purpose -- using the word "political" in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other peoples' idea of the kind of society that they should strive after. Once again, no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

I see no reason to try and reinvent the wheel and explain myself when he did it better than I could ever hope to. Though I would change the quote from Milton, myself preferring:

"free, and to none accountable, preferring hard liberty before the easy yoke of servile pomp"

I set that quote as my watchword some years ago. Not sure how well I've lived up to it, but I like it none the less for my transgressions (which have been numerous). Rights, which are as inalienable to us as the very air we breathe must also be accompanied with inalienable responsibilities from which we must never seperate ourselves lest we find our rights follow them out the door. When a force wants to take our rights the first thing they do is start with responsibility, "Let us handle that for you" they demur. And who amongst their busy lives will argue with someone wanting to lighten their load a bit? But that topic is another blog. Along with one that I've decided to entitle, "So you want a revolution? then learn how to fucking type, file a report on time, have the stamina to see a campaign through to the end and realize that you're no working class hero you sorry sack of shit".

Though I don't have the discipline to post often, rest assured, my misanthropy remains unabated and in fact grows more virulent every day.

A small footnote on my one post that intruded upon any hope of a cyber bubble reputation. The idea that international law could be used in NI to help sort out the issues was brought up and expounded upon. I let it go and eventually tapped out of the bout. For Christmas I got a book entitled Crimes of War 2.0. While reading it I came upon a few interesting points (as international humanitarian laws previously held little interest for me).

"International humanitarian law...does not address the causes or origins of a particular war, or which side was right or wrong, only the method by which it is fought [my emphasis]. So it is entirely possible, for example, for an aggressor to stage a war of conquest in accordance with the Geneva Conventions or for a defender to commit war crimes in a legitimate war of self defense."

And from the section entitled "Act of War" which has to do with declaring a conflict a "war".

"An example of modern State practice is porvided by the United Kingdom, which during the Suez War (1956) and Falkland Islands War (1982)strenously denied that it was at war with respectively, Egypt and Argentina."

Interesting thoughts and definitely a reccommended read, if not for the faint of heart. So althought its far too late to do me any good I still thought it was worth mentioning since I was getting nostalgic for posts past. Also, on a more personal note. I wrote that post in the middle of a pretty good bender during which I burnt out two other guys (seperately) and kept drinking well into the night (much to my wifes chagrin).

All in all its been fun and I look forward to continuing this blog however irregular the posting may be. Thanks for coming in.