Writing As A Means Of Punching The Existential Nightmare In The D*ck

When everything feels like it’s going south in one’s life, how does one have the temerity to sit down at the keyboard and keep on filling the white screen with black shapes?

I really want to know. Anyone?

In my case, it’s perhaps sheer cussedness. No matter how loud the war is without, I have to keep something regular within me. Otherwise, the whole temple is pulled down.

It’s not easy, of course. As whoever said, it’s hard to fight an enemy who has encampments in your head.

Honestly, as a white male in the United States, I have no universal reason to complain. Being born white and male here is playing the video game in “easy mode.”

But still, things can seem very, very terrible from one’s own perspective.

Hence, writing.

Writing is an ancient form originally used for accounting, then religion. Back then, the two went hand-in-hand. In Sumeria, religion owned a huge part of any society.

We’ve come from bird scratches in clay to dirty limericks and OpEds. Some would argue that this is a sideways progression. I’d far rather read a dirty limerick than read a roll call on cattle. But that’s just me.

Anywhoozle, although few might read this, it’s still a match in the dark. Somewhere on the interwebs of things, among unsolicited male nudes, griefing, and pop-up ads, are my words. And they will last until the network is unplugged.

I am two generations away from total anonymity. Almost everyone is. Even in this rarified time in history, where we can actually watch dead people as they lived.

Think of that: for the first time in history, I can watch a man who died before I was born walk around on film. Just past living memory, no one was EVER able to do that in all of history.

Anyway, two generations blah blah blah. That’s the time it takes for your grandchildren to grown up and have children of their own. Unless one has done something (in)famous, the great grandchildren will scarcely remember us.

But in the meantime, write. It can be a message from you to you, or a message to a relative of yours you’ll never meet. Write as a means of telling the indifferent universe, “I exist.”

Or just write because it’s fun.