Summer Holiday Send-off

The sun's setting and I have to go back but none of it feels real, it's never-ending; the longest never-ending I will ever have. It can't be 3 days left, I wanna do it all over again and not even do any of it differently. It was lots of extended lows punctured by soring highs. Sitting in the house. Internet. Have I got depression? I haven't when I'm too caught up to think about it, but maybe thats how it is for everyone.

Maybe I'm so young such a short time can change me; haven't spoken to you in what, 13 weeks? Maybe you won't even recognize me. But I can't start new. New institution, same people. Education never changes. It hasn't even started yet and I've already planned out the ending. And what comes after as well. But I don't know; my future is confusing. Would be worse if it wasn't. This way the road has lots of surprises. Not sure if I want any of them tho; I'm boring like that. At least I think I am, but I wouldn't want anyone to know that I am. But maybe they think I am anyway, which is why I spend so long trying to change that. I'm not a cool enough personality to be proudly uncool. I'll keep trying, dammit!

And I do all this stuff. Anything I do that looks from the outside like a fulfilling life is counted as stuff. Anything social; because that's the high that penetrates the low. I go to the beach. It's all good, every situation I'm in is easier to live than it is to think about. Even the bad stuff. I'm home and I got sun burn; sizzling up my skin; good excuse not to go out tho. It takes me a week to recover. Screaming like Kanye West on Yeezus; but much more high pitched, I think I scared my dog; and I wouldn't do it if my parents were around. Kill me now; worst pain I ever felt. So bad I couldn't even think; and that's one of my hobbies. I could think about the pain; and think about making deals with the devil. He'd take the pain away and I'd do some evil in return. One of those spooky realizations when it came naturally to me. But it ended after a week. One of those experiences I wouldn't change but definitely wouldn't re-live. I'd give you all my prized possessions; maybe that would help me.

And I end it all at a party. It wasn't even to celebrate the summer ending. Drunk: my body goes tipsy and swerve-y and I'd only describe it as being more free in retrospective, and the voice in my head goes drunk too. And I start to say all those things I'd usually just think about. Actually I probably wouldn't even think things those things, but I talk and talk, it's easier drunk. It's not the confidence it's the ability to forget your normal codes of conversation and join into a communal code. And all the none drunks just look at you, but even if there was just one of us they'd still be the outsiders. It's the beer: it's the right way to be. Before I'd say my first drunk experience was good research, but it was far too fun to be research, and how can something that is actual life help with all these made up things in our artist brains? And I kissed a girl for the first time, but that's private isn't it? A tongue swerving around in my mouth; it's beautiful, and so was she but I still had to clarify her name with someone the next day. And I wake up, actually no; continue consciousness: damn fucking wooden floor, and I think everyone there hates me. It's just the lads there and were all having fun and laughing; it must be all in my head; but the alcohol's already outta there. But so what, nevermind. I walk out of there with a friend and go back to society and join into the stream. But that nights still with me, and my mind's still drunk, still feels a little the day after too, even if my body's fine now.

And now I go back in a few days. But it's been a good summer. And the bad times and good times don't matter cause it's all one big thing. But the good times do matter because I wanna have them with me and they make me have more. And I think the bad times matter too, even though I didn't learn anything from them anyway. Ah well, nevermind.

Thoughts on Porn

I write and write and write and none of it sticks; it's all this pop culture whirlpool. I feel like the advertisers have grabbed me and folded me neatly into a box. I ask for ideas on this forum and one guy stuffs my reading ears full of preachy talk on how all my writing must come from the heart or when he's reading he'll sense the lack of feeling. So here's one just for him, straight from the heart: inspired by David Cameron's plan to ban porn in the UK (there's a British word for this, it's "cunt") and the fact I've had a whole summer to wank the sunshine away. Some thoughts on porn from a seasoned pro:

• I wish I could go back and save the first porn movie I ever masturbated to; it was a lesbian video, recently filmed but vintage looking. It was nothing special but it would be a nice time capsule for one Saturday afternoon when I was 13 years old. I still don't know the thought process that goes into the discovery of masturbating for most, although I look forward to that discussion, but I picked it up from a Lee Evans gig. His O2 tour; he does jokes about shopping for beds and at one points he acts out a pervy shop assistant and therein does that hand movement. I'd looked at porn videos before, thinking the aesthetic pleasure as all there was, but it was this Saturday I decided to apply that hand movement to see just what Evans was on about. It all spun off from there.
• My first inkling for porn goes back to being a kid, around the age of 10, watching The Legend of Zorro (that's the pretty average sequel to the great Antonio Banderas original) on a dreary Saturday night; I don't know either, I guess Saturday is just perfect for pornographic consumption. I was close to my appointed sleepy time so I quickly excused my self from the living room with the vagueness of "I have to use the computer" then loaded up AOL (yeah baby!) and simply typed in "porn". Contrary what I was expecting Google did exactly as I told it to and I was faced with a page full of links; I didn't dare click on them. I've always been paranoid about what other people my age are doing - probably brought on by a lack of siblings - although I know now that if I had clicked any of the links Google forwarded to me in that moment I would have been the first person out of everyone I knew to look upon those images. So lucky I chickened out; Taxi Driver fucked me up when it comes to violence so atleast I wasn't as damaged when it comes to sexuality. Also lucky was the fact that on at-the-time AOL the "recent searches" didn't show searches with adult words in them. So no telling off for me; although I still decided to leave porn alone for a while. 
• That leaves some gap years from The Legend of Zorro to Lee Evans at the O2: in which I eventually grew restless enough that I tried again to get to porn: only this time with so much built in paranoia that my computer would rat me out that I ended up attempting to get onto porn sites in the most convoluted ways that have ever been done. This early obsession played itself out with me watching a lot of "youtube porn" which for anyone not in the know is basically a cheesy story of jealousy or cheating followed by (primarily Japanese) girls making out. This of course because porn can't be shown on Youtube. The stories, although silly and only existent at the beginning of the videos, are still sadly some of the best porn movie stories I've seen. There was tons of crap on Youtube too: one video promised the highest quality video Youtube porn had ever offered; right up until the point where the actor stopped, turned so his whole face engulfed the camera, and ranted to me about what a sicko I was for trying to watch porn. I don't remember the details of his rant although it probably had nothing to do with the act of watching porn itself: just disgust that I must have became so bored of porn on Redtube  and other real sites that I needed the thrill of watching porn on Youtube to get me off. 
• Inevitably these videos stopped fulfilling my primal needs and I was forced to devise a plan so cunning Steve McQueen himself would have applauded. I loaded up some Youtube porn, one of the short videos that shows you nothing sexual but promises you a video on some other site. Why I never thought to just search for porn and delete the history, or even write the porn links on these videos in the html bar, which my parents would never think to check, is beyond me. But thankfully Youtube (old Youtube that is; you kids don't know the shit they're feeding you) had a feature on each video that had links to every site that particular video had been shown on. Admit it, if porn was illegal I would be some sort of black market trader with this find. It took me a few attempts looking through all the links on every piece of super-soft-core porn I could find but eventually I found one that linked to a real porn site. Which was also my first realization that the majority of porn on the internet is free. I felt like a bored middle-aged man living in an oppressed Orwellian hell who had burst out of his cell block and was surfing through the streets on a hoverboard while the rest of the earth went along with their boring rituals as usual; unknowing of what was happening right outside. Here I saw my first real porn video, another time capsule I wish I had, of a black woman wearing a cowboy hat dancing naked on a table. Pretty soon I figured I could just search for porn like everyone else and not get caught which eventually lead me to that first masturbatory experience. 
• I don't think talking sex or masturbation is weird; only as weird as you find the acts themselves, really. Like everything in life it's better to just share your twisted view of obscenities. Why? because everyone has them, at least you can paint yourself an interesting colour by sharing.
• Which could of lead us to my one masturbating anecdote; only the internet, or maybe just written word, sucks the lifeblood straight out of that one. Lets just say I've came close to being caught, and in surprising stupid ways.
• But that was when I was younger; I doubt I could be badly told off now; if you are a parent and find your kids masturbating wrong then it's not that your a prude, just a self-deluded prick. I've discussed this with friends before; I doubt in the moment my brain would be able to translate the bullet points we came up with; although it doesn't matter, they're all just translations of "we're teenagers, this is what we do". Ever hear the old saying "the liar's punishment is he can't believe anyone else", well I'll translate that into porn (like Sid Vicious covering Frank Sinatra) because all good things are more relatable when they're made dirty. Everytime my parents shout my name from the other end of the house, annoyingly using that formal phone-call voice as if they're shouting from the secret CIA office hidden in our house, panic rips through my mind. Said panic would be nowhere to be find if they shouted in angry-as-fuck voices. I have this weird image of answering this formal reply, going up into the room where the family computer is kept, my dad leading me in with an eager smile, then my mother jumping out and slamming the door behind me and all hell breaking loose. Again: lucky, it hasn't happened yet. 
• Which all wraps into a sort of "prologue" to my experiences with porn; not many noticeable things or points of interest after that, just tons of wanking. I've still never seen the "classics" by which I mean the pizza delivery boy or the plumber, which I guess is a compliment to the modern porn industry. Although even with all the industry can throw at you your bound to get bored of the videos; no matter the category. Your imagination's good for a few, although eventually that just gets depressing. Never to fear though, the internet has other supplements for you too. Sex stories are my favorite of these; especially the ones on seriously-aimed sites that try to pass their weird situations and random sexual occurrences off as truth. There are sites aimed solely at sex stories but the majority of these writers seem to get carried away; I usually end up skipping to the end only to find a completely different set of characters have taken over the story. Another type is celebrity fakes which are varying degrees of photo-shopping craftsmanship used to place a famous head over a naked body. Which is porn's distorted take on celebrity culture in which people can take their gossip mag fantasies as far as they want.
• And that's porn in a nutshell. A (fantastically so) irreplaceable part of our culture. Go watch Boogie Nights, it doesn't make fun of porn; it uses it as much of a backdrop as Tarantino uses slavery in Django Unchained, some would say to the cause of less offense. Boogie Nights is also a great reminder that there's so much going on behind porn. 

Any excuse to use this

And that's the thing about porn; there's actually something to it. That's why Boogie Nights exists; because there's a history there, different eras of porn, lots of famous figures coming and going. Yeah it objectifies people and whatever, but from what I hear it's a pretty good place to land if you get shot out into the wilderness. People become a family within the business and create good careers out of it.

And it's punk too. It's more rebellious than rock and roll could ever be. It's like drugs: young people doing something juvenile in nature to show how grown up they now are. Both drugs and porn, and rock n roll too, carry over into adult hood, but it's made for young people. Porn doesn't damage people; yeah you can get traumatized sexually, but it would take a lot more than what's on a computer screen or a magazine fold-out to do that. It's part of growing up; going on some wild porn bender, watching messed up shit and trying out all the different types you can and doing something fun with the full knowledge you shouldn't be doing it. Porn would be of less interest for everyone if it was a social norm.

And that's why David Cameron's idea won't work. I doubt it will even happen but if it does then it's just a glitch in the system that'll be sorted out in no time and will stand forever as an example of why to just leave this whole porn thing alone. It reminds me of Arnold Schwarzenegger, near the end of his term as mayor of California, trying to ban all violent video-games. He likely didn't care, after all why would The Terminator give a fuck about violence? It was a last-ditch effort to say he had done something, anything at all, with his time in office. Which I guess makes David Cameron the British equivalent of Arnold Schwarzenegger, only without the acting chops, multi-million dollar film franchises, body-building legacy, or ability to have a cheating scandal and have no-one give a shit.

Notes on a British Prom

It's too much for a writer staring at blank paper; even worse when it's e-paper. I thought about selling out and making a journal entry post, but once you do that you get sucked into doing it every month or even every week, which comes with a presumption from the internet that I do things that often. Maybe doing such every month makes you grab life by the horns just so your readers aren't reading about how proud you are of completing that sudoku in record time; although I'm not buying it. 

Thing is I got half way through that journal post and found the only thing I was journaling about was my school prom. Problem solved. So here's a tone of rambling thoughts on a night that was billed to me as one of the most important nights of my student life; a hyperbole I'm still trying to decipher:

• Holy fuck did people hype this baby up. I didn't buy into it much, it was just something else happening, like global warming and stock market plummets. It wasn't until the day before I noticed it was all happening to me. I dreaded it until I got there; after that there was no chance all night to actually let dread sink in. 
• If there is any yanks reading then the one thing that differentiates your proms from ours is that parents over here are the most excited ones. No mental breakdowns, or even positivity from the people my age; I wish I could say the same for my parents. Having my parents boss me around trying to get me in suitable shape for the big night was the low point of the whole day. Cramming "it was all for your own good" shit down my throat the day after, yeah right. 
• I arrived at my friends house first; he sorted out a coach months ago to come pick us all up (all 35 of us) and take us down to St. James, the most swarve venue our school could get together. Fun seeing my friends and random acquittance's that despite 5 years at the same school I still don't know the names of. Annoying that it all took place while standing in my friend's garden for half an hour while lots of parents (none of which were mine) stood around taking photos of us in our prom attire. The coach eventually turned up (a little early actually, so well done to whichever company it was) unfortunately there wasn't enough seats; causing obvious problems. Luckily the coach driver foresaw those problems and sent a taxi to pick up the six of us who didn't have places. Good that I went on, it was a funny ride with us all bunched up together, probably more fun than a bus full of isolated pairs not communicating. 
• So we got to the prom. I'm 16 which I gather is younger than when Americans have prom, which is annoying because you'd think if we steal it from another country we'd at least be able to do it right. Fun night, not really a prom just a school disco. Lots of flashing lights which had little effect on the back of the dance floor which is where me and my friends set camp for most of the night. At least we danced, not like the people sat directly behind us who sat their from start to finish. 
• I must note: I'm no dancer. I can't do shit with my legs, and the only reason I was so happy to get up and showcase the moves was because it was of that level of darkness in the room that even though everyone can see everyone we all accept that it's dark and it doesn't matter what anyone else is doing.
• The songs were good; nothing I would listen to on my own, but I knew that going in. I expect in America there's at least one slow song; the lovey-dovey one that's built up to all night and depending on your romantic situation either brings you excitement or dread. Nothing close here. Everything was a rave up. It was all plain mainstream stuff, a few older hits but nothing surprising, which is a shame because the songs were chosen by request. I wouldn't bother giving a request but if I was forced at gun point I'd have gone for Blue Monday by New Order, simply because although it's a disco tune I wonder if the people there would have liked it, certainly not a soul would have heard of it. They had Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke; it was the first time I heard it despite it being number one in the charts for the last few weeks. Good to dance to, and better to do a group sing-along to, although I tried playing it the next day in the comfort of my own home and found the experience hadn't changed my musical preferences whatsoever. Not a bad song, but nothing special, and the line "You wanna hug me Hey, hey, hey What rhymes with hug me?" flies very close to my danger zone. 
• The only song that threw everything into total chaos was I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor by Arctic Monkeys, which came as a pleasant surprise. Everyone had their arms in the and just kept moving forward; all the better if there was people in front. As far as our side of the dance floor went there was no accidents, but the whole room did go into total anarchy, which is exactly what it should be like. 
• The school did a pretty good job of the venue; probably because the school stayed out of it as much as they could. Their only part in the whole night was the awards, which for whatever reason happened half way through the night. Didn't win any; they were all things like "most likely to be James Bond" and "most likely to be injured while dancing" all leading up to prom king and queen, which were given out separately but went to two who were actually dating. 
• As for drinks and shit there was no booze. There was a bar that served coke and fizzies, but it was all a little on the pricey side. I got one coke for the whole night and no food. They were serving it and as far as I know it was free, I just didn't feel like it. Surely large quantities of food plus hours upon hours of non-stop vigorous dancing can't lead to much good. I did try some cake because the girl I was sitting next to couldn't tell what it was (which is a clue to the kind of off-the-counter niche bullshit they were feeding us) who also happened to be the same girl who had me and a friend running around collecting her food and drink. I got the liquids, he got the solids. The problem was there wasn't enough hateful energy in the air that night to make either of us tell her to "fuck off", not even sarcastically, anyways I kinda like that chick. 
• At the beginning of the night the screens dotted round the room had slide shows of everyone's school photos from five years ago; our first year in high school. I hated it to be honest, I hate photos of myself more than famine and aids. Then the photos ended and it was just a screen showing someone trying to log off of windows xp very quickly, all very Portal 2 y'know; breaking the illusion and all. 
• There was no big ceremony of an ending; it ended and we left. I don't know what happened to everyone on our coach because there was enough seats for everyone (and spares) with no taxi mentioned. I didn't see anyone left behind but it wouldn't surprise me. For all I know those bastards are still stuck there, living off a horribly overpriced mini-bar and free meals which consist of plain-looking sandwiches and unceremonious cake. 

And that was my year 11 prom. I'll have another one when I come to the end of sixth form in year 13, and for all the kerfuffle whirling around this one I'm told the year 13 prom is the one that's actually "important" a term that is hard to place on either. It was a good right, although no rite of passage, it was just a lot of fun with friends (because lets face it; no one ventured out of their self-made group all night) although it wasn't a big send off to the years and to the people we'll never see again, because we all had that with a leavers assembly on the last day of school.

And to be honest that's what I liked about it. Everyone had the grandiose image that American culture has put in our heads of prom. I went in expecting American Pie. It was good that it wasn't made into a big deal. Prom's still fairly new here, my parents didn't even have prom (probably the reason for their misplaced excitement) yet it isn't at all like the American prom. I suppose I prefered the fact I didn't have to face up to my future or grow up all on Friday night.

The Troubling Art of the Blogger

You remember that mission statement that Tom Cruise sends out in Jerry McGuire? Well that's basically what this is. The only difference is this isn't sent to a company of people I work with, it's simply for me and any of the people it reaches through my blog. I guess that's good in a way; it means I can neither get fired from a high-up job, nor am I Tom Cruise. But it also means it won't send ripples throughout the blogging community, one day being carved into the digital fibre of the internet when one of the computer gods gets around to making the 10 commandments of the internet.

But I know what your thinking: Why write a mission statement for yourself you madman! Just think those things. No need to write them down. And if there is just jot them down in your journal, don't expose yourself so openly like some sort of indecent nighttime flasher! That's right, I'm like a freaking mind reader.

But really, what am I writing this for. Well, as the site doesn't currently invite many visitors, I see this blog more as an extension of my journals (SEE: Now neglected papers where I once splashed out my emotions into ink) which is good, isn't it? They say the best writers are the ones who write like no-one is reading (or is that a completely unrelated eulogy about dancing?). But this isn't any sort of daring game with myself; I won't be adding posts filled with embarrassing personal facts to tempt fate with the possibility someone I know might find them. I'm writing this to set everything straight. Don't ask what it is I am setting straight, because frankly I just don't know. But writing apparently unlocks something inside you, or at least the thing your writing first becomes apparent to you as your writing it.

All I know is I've been neglecting this blog. I started it because I wanted to be like the bloggers that I read myself, and to become a good writer. But by creating a blog and then not doing anything with it I have found even more artistic unfulfillment. I imagine this is what it's like to buy a cook book that contains practically every recipe ever in it only to find yourself chomping on a McDonald's happy meal everyday. And don't think it's because I have nothing to say. The worst thing an artist can do is claim he has nothing to say, either to cover his back or as what he believes will be something artistic to say. I have a lot to say, it's just hard to say it.

So why don't I update this blog that much? Is my life really that eventful that my activities have dragged me away from something I actually want to do, nevermind all of the stuff I wish I wasn't having to do. Well not really, no. I could use the old cliche that it's easier to imagine this blog as a thriving community of activity than actually make it one, but you'd have to be an idiot to believe that. Imagining success only further proves you don't have it. I know I need to post more, that I need to be a better writer, that my blog really isn't a blog at all until I make it one. I guess I'm just lazy. What of the rewards of a great sentence? of a finished article? They are indeed great, and would only make me glad of writing. But it's been a lot easier to just accept that my blog was out there somewhere, that for the time being it didn't need my assistance. That as long as the time-gaps between my posts didn't get to the point where if someone stumbled upon my blog they might fear I died mid-article, that it was ok.

So I guess I do know what this is. It's a promise to myself to not wait another month, to not settle for things simply being adequate, but to actually do something, anything. Something bad is better than nothing at all. And that itself would only be true if I was counting on making something bad. Maybe I'll make something I might one-day laugh at, but not something I would be unhappy with. I would hate to be one of those writers - of which there are many - that mistake lack of talent or skill for a lack of experience.

Yet this is an update too. A sort-of marker of where I am into the blogging experience, which makes the whole idea of running a blog a lot easier to swallow for me. I haven't blogged enough yet to know the ins and outs, but I feel like someone who's just got their first car (not me then - hey, I was struggling for a metaphor). I'm guessing that feels like you suck at driving a car, yet you feel better at it than everybody in the world who hasn't got a car. I've noticed things about my writing, and blogging in general, since entering this crazy game. A game that you know - yet you don't fully realize until you start - never stops from the very moment you click play.

I've noticed I'm much better at making my writing good (or at least up to a standard where I won't cringe when I click "Publish") than I am at actually making my blog look nice. I'm currently on my third design of the blog since staring up, and writing this has given me the urge to change it again after I finish writing. It never looks quite right. Maybe because there's no image of the finished thing screaming in my head, just images of other blogs that have got it right and are laughing at me from up above. I'm gonna get it right eventually. Hopefully.

When it comes to writing I've noticed I'm a big fan of overcomplex metaphors and bits of writing that sound smart because they are made of long winding sentences and double connectives, yet really mean nothing at all. These thoughts could have been written down just as easily as they were formed in my head, yet I've fell into he habit (freely, with open arms, up until now) and I haven't been able to get out of it. It just happens. Just like all habits of bad writing. And all the habits of good writing to, lest I forget.

I don't quite know why my brain (or my heart, as many confused artists will probably claim my writing comes from) can't just explain things simply. It's probably because I'm such a sarcastic bastard in real life. I love to think idiots wouldn't get my writing because it's too smart for them. When in truth it's probably smart people who don't understand my writing because it's too dumb. Then again I hate to put myself down. And seeing someone else put down their own writing always feels like a waste of their talent to me. I was always great at writing as a kid. It's more than likely I was very talented at it back then. Back in say, primary school, I was a great writer. I just stuck in. And the praise I got has just stuck in my head ever since. Until recently when I noticed I wasn't really ahead of anyone as a writer. For all those years I thought I was being a good writer. But all those people who told me I was a great writer when I was a kid just screwed me on this one. For years I've just been the great writer I thought I was (Translation: not a good writer at all, maybe just a decent enough one to pass English exams) and I've never attempted to be an actually good writer, probably because until recently I didn't know there was difference. So that's something else to aim for too.

If there is one thing I'm proud of so far with this blog it's the template I've worked around for some of my posts. Looking back at my best post; a history lesson of sorts on the band Nirvana, I can pick apart the prose as something I could do a lot better now, only 2 months or so after writing that post, but I'm still proud of that post. It's filled with pictures and videos. And it ends with lots of cool... extras, if you will. I include the last song the band ever made, it's a sad one when you think about it, and it's a dramatic technique by me that isn't too hard to decipher. It pulls on the heart strings. I even include Dave Grohl's song about Cobain for extra effect. An artistic impression of the 27 club, for a subject untouched in the writing to be channeled to the reader through an image. Before ending on my favorite of these techniques; having a sort of "summing up" image, here a collage of Nirvana and it's many assets. I do this on most articles, like a more stylish version of a full stop. A way of concluding a piece of writing the same way a filmmaker might end a rom-com with the endearing image of our couple, a films worth of funny, relationship-forming shenanigans behind them, now ready to live their lives happily together, and to be immortalised in audiences minds though that one final image (See! one of those extensive metaphors I was talking about) and don't think I'm making fun of this article, I'm proud of it, and I'm proud of the article and how I've used images and videos as an extension of the writing. Does this mean my articles are better than other bloggers because of this? Of course not. But it does mean I'm doing something other blogger aren't doing. And of that I'm happy.

I'm sure it would be in the interest of public decency to wrap this baby up. It's been a long post. But in the end I did manage to figure why I wrote this post (me proving one of my earlier points again). This is  my real opening to this site. That self deluded welcome page I wrote earlier is now obsolete. I won't delete it. It's important. At least to me. It represents a part of my writing that I hope isn't there anymore. I'm not saying it's there so I can point people to it "You think this post is great, you should go back to when I started to this blog, then you'll see how much I've changed as a writer". It's not like that at all. I think I'm in control of my own ego at least that much. It's more that for any artists (and sorry for describing myself as one, but anyone can if they feel they are, as long as they plan to prove it) the bad parts of them are just as important as the good.

Once again I must wonder what this blog post. Who is it aimed at? and why would they read it anyway? I guess it's because this whole post has been about my inability to update this blog with posts I feel proud of. Whatever this post was, I'm proud of writing it. Before I felt like I was writing this blog through a filter, trapped inside a box, now I feel like I am free to write about anything.

Welcome to Culture Vulture

Who knows if a welcome post like this is the "professional" thing to do, but to hell with it, I've finally got around to making my blog and it seems like the only way to start out. 


What am I making this blog for? Well I'd hope whoever manages to stumble across it finds enjoyment (and knowledge) from my posts. Unlike most of the blogs I read this isn't aimed solely at something like movies or music, I've taken the hefty load of blogging about all culture in general. 

Thats not to say there's no personal gain in mind for this blog, at best it'll be the perfect place for me to flex my writing skills, and at worst I'm guessing it will be the place I put all of my horrific, rambling thoughts.  


I'm sure many people create blogs simply for money, or out of the hope that they will get a writing offer from someone higher up who read the blog and thought it was so good they literally couldn't go on without offering them money, but personally I see this blog simply as place to write down my thoughts, meet new people, dissect some of my favorite media, and hopefully cause lots of heated debates in the comments section.  


So to anyone just stopping by, leave a comment and get involved, and maybe even start a blog of your own (because I've gotta tell ya, opening this first blog post and seeing that huge empty white page waiting for me was a damn freeing experience) 


And if your wondering what I would hope this blog would turn out like, I'd hope it to be splashed with colour and pictures and filled with all the madcap weekly special features and categories that I haven't got around to think of yet. 

(and just a few of my favorite things)

(and thanks for checking out the blog)