Tuesday, Oct. 29, 2002
I haven't found my mojo for a week or so. This will be an exercise in figuring out where it is. Keep in mind, though, that I am not an suave international man of mystery. Mojo has a completely different meaning when applied to unemployed wannabe writers. In the past, I've been very hesitant to post something that wasn't completely polished. "Oh, does he polish?" you might ask. Yeah. I do. That's why you haven't found anything here for a little while. More often than not, I'm just more interested in ideas than spelling things out. But ideas just haven't been coming to me.

I've never understood people who find facination with the random mumblings of strangers. Mumblings in and of themselves don't mean much to me. It's where those mumblings are coming from that make me want to listen. Of course, without knowing that part, I don't much care. Well, every once in a while I have to remind myself fuck all and release my mumblings.

My mother once told me that so much of my writer's block is my own doing. She says I have a tendency to labor over all kinds of remotely related tangents and bring those into the main idea of the story. My mom is a "communications professional", which means her job is to cut out all the unneccessary fat and get to the point as quickly and simply as possible. I suppose that's all most people have time for these days. Quick. Cheap. Simple. Everyone is in such a goddamn hurry to keep up with whatever it is they think they're missing. By the time they get there they find what they've missed was in front of their faces the whole time. Sad, isn't it?

Not that this has anything to do with my mother or her carreer. I'm just more comfortable trying to identify what it is in front of my face by exploring everything I can think of. And this is what comes out. And LizardNuts is where it comes out. And fuck all if they don't like how it comes out.

I got a note in my guestbook last week concerning the entry I made about my regained sex life. Feminists never fail to amaze me. Especially the 20-something college feminists. This one decided to allow me my life without her "rant". A blessing, indeed. What got under my skin, and not in a bad way, was her acknowledging how inappropriate her lecture would be. Now I'm intrigued. She and I could have an interesting dialogue. I have to assume she's another one of those people who can't stand certain contradictions of our world that might conflict with her life's philosophy.

I rather enjoy living in a world of contradictions. There are no rules, really, if you think about it, except the social rules we impose on each other. And because humans are such social creatures, considered damaged if not, we follow those rules whether we like it or not. (But don't we celebrate the people who don't have to live by the same rules as the rest of us?) Oh, yes, of course we ought not to kill each other, nor steal from the poor; nor should we destroy the planet from which we reap our life's sustainance. But we do anyway. We ought not to judge people who live a different style than our own; and we certainly ought not to impose our worldview on anyone. Period. But we do anyway, don't we. If not directly, then we supposrt those who do.

If you're wearing Nikes, I don't want to see you at a protest rally against Iraq. And if you don't see the connection, perhaps you should try removing your cranium from your rectum.

So what good are the rules if we only apply them toward our own gain? Shouldn't logic and good will succeed our individual pleasure? Isn't there greater pleasure after suffering the difficulties over the long haul? Then again, how can I be so thoughtful tapping away on a machine and so thoughtless in relation to other human beings? Wow, look at the worms wiggle and crawl! I'm only going to pick one of them right now; the rest will go back in the can.

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