I have never claimed to be wise nor have I thought myself as an intellectual at any point or junction in my fresh and sheltered life. Both of the above I, one day, strive to be, and perhaps will be in my own perversions, but doubtful in some fashion of reality. In my opinion, and it is simply that, there are two types of people in this world. First, but in no way more important, there are the types of people who, at any given point, feel the constant biting need to express one self. As if an itch routed deep under the skin crawling from one limb to the next, one is compelled to emit their thoughts, their belief systems, their skills and talents to the world, be it listening or not. And Secondly, there are those who do not. The recent advent of Blogging, in the blip that is the Devil's technological conception, a number of people living in category One have packed up and set sail for the new world of online exposure. I have no respect for the Blogger, nor do I posses a disrespect for him either. He merely is.


I sometimes furnish the notion that people who lived and spoke in the public sphere through the 50's,60's and possibly the 70's were more complex, less predictable, characteristically rich and independently thoughtful. They had something to say. Something that, if people listened to, would have a positive effect on reality. However, I am constantly torn. Were they, in fact, more intelligent and observant? Or was that of a different ratio present? Today, are there just so many venues, vehicles, exhibits and showcases for people to display their personalities and world views that it seems a less intelligent, less tasteful human is taking over due to shear volume of douche-bags speaking their mind and being heard? The weight of one's word has been diminished to a mere gram of Warholian fleeting fame. Are there still smart people out there? Are there still interesting characters? Where are the Norman Mailers? Will the Jim Morrisons please stand up. Will the Marshall McLuhans rise above their Global Villages? Where are all the voices that so eloquently, effectively and sometimes accidentally spoke ahead of their times. Who will I speak to my uninterested and eye-rolling kids about 20 years from here? Where are the great minds and independent thinkers of My generation? Who do I have to look up to? Where are my inspirations? They definitely aren't blogging.

It seems exceedingly likely that the days of excitement, invention and exploration have been sucked into the vacuum of counter-progression and met an untimely fate with the giant metaphorical nostalgic garburator and that the days ahead are those of redundancy, interpretation and expectation. Cheaper, less durable tar laid over the bumpy yet still effective road of discovery that led us here.

As I type along to the metronome in my brain and gulp my red wine, which poured out of a cheap, plastic corkless tetra pack, I can say, with the certainty of a time bomb, that there are too few pieces to what is too much puzzle.

writing under the influence,
jeffc