What’s shakin’, bongo players.
I’m going to update this blog often, I said.
I have a difficulty with time, is the thing. It goes by much too quickly for me. A month feels like moments. All my clocks are a half hour ahead. “What, it’s already three?! Wait, whew. It’s two thirty.” It’s like giving time the finger.
Right now, I’m working on my little book My Merry Secular Holiday. I want it finished by the end of the week.
It’s going to be almost thirty pages long, in a square format. A fun book that will be the first in a series of little square books, such as Tikiola: An Apostate Island Guide to Life.
I’m really excited about Hit the Road and Be Who You Are, The Rollicking Adventures of an Unrepentant Tomboy, and my swan song to the Potter fandom, Severus Snape and the Art of Being Human.
All of these books will be around a hundred pages. Short books; this is going to be my thing for the foreseeable future. I’ll also be focusing on paperback books as opposed to e-Books. Tomboy will be filled with something like personal essays about my life and shit I love, the 70s, toys, androgyny, oddness, Tiki… It’ll be the first in a series of Tomboy books.
I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately—it seems like this planet’s bought the funny farm—and as such I’m much more selective of what I’ll devote my time and energy to: I’m calling one of my strategies “internet minimalism”.
I’m no longer on Livejournal. I’m on Twitter the most (though these days, not as much because I don’t want to see or hear about the Orange Fuck, whose stench gives me anxiety attacks and makes me feel almost like I’m back in the hellhole that was my childhood home), then Imzy and Instagram, and here on WordPress (logospilgrim.com is my news hub, and Apostate Island is a personal blog).
That’s it. That’s enough.
I need to get a new computer soon (fuck), and I’ve already decided that I won’t be getting iTunes albums anymore. If I really want something, I’ll buy the CD. The way I see it, it’s one less thing to worry about. I’ve had it with this “constantly keeping up with shit” shit. It’s like trying to fill up a hungry, bottomless pit.
Some technology is very useful. Some of it is puzzling or ridiculous. Too much of it feels like a massive headache; like an encroaching tumor that slowly makes it harder to function. The other day, I found myself longing for a television set with rabbit ears and a ten channel dial.
I want a stereo system. A few cherished vinyl records.
I mean, it’s the same thing with popular culture. Nowadays, it’s a veritable deluge of new stuff you “have” to be excited about and “must” want to see and keep up with; it’s a race that goes faster and faster, that gets louder and louder. Fuck it.
Like the other day, I was walking out of the grocery store and saw this stand with stacks of “Utopia” virtual reality headsets. I think I died a little at the sight of these things. This is why I want vinyl records, a turntable, real books, movies on DVD, my toys, interests that mean something to me.
Learning to affirm myself, to respect myself and what I want, to honor what I love and need: this has been phenomenally good.
What I want isn’t stupid. Who I am is fine.