Ten Years After

It’s been a whole decade since I wrote on this thing. The old rock band Ten Years After, whose name I always liked, had a hit called “I’d Love to Change the World.” You’d hear it on PLJ and NEW; very George Harrison guitar, to me at least. At that time I was less than two decades old. I’m in my fifth decade now, or sixth, I guess, depending on how you count.

It’s a terrific song, especially when contemplating action, at this moment, in the shitstorm world. The singer doesn’t know what to do. He lists necessities and tasks, including “End the war.” Then he “leaves it up to” to the listener.

The audience is everyone. At least those listening. Is the singer apathetic? Powerless to change anything?

To prefer to sit, and not activate. Or watch.

I believe in verbs, in small actions, in making intent tangible. My father always said, “Watch my feet, not my mouth.”

To do, not to say.

It’s been a decade and a hell of a lot has happened. I’m not enumerating anything here, no events, no changes. I am not writing for a reader. Part of my problem is that’s what I’ve always done. Written for someone, anyone, an amorphous and faceless protoplasm who somehow stands as proof that my writing matters. That I’m good. That the presence of another anything means I’m worthy. I’ve never really done this in a vacuum. I may have said that, a lot of sentences explaining my new healthy attitude toward what I do with words, but it was really just a lie.

I am doing this now for my own damn self. If you’re reading this, I don’t care. It’s not for you. By all means read it, if you like, but know that I’m not depending on your eyes as validation.

There’s a new blog title and a new URL. I will probably play with the graphics a bit. I’m posting before editing. Of course I’ll edit, but not right away. I’m not sharing it on social. If you find it, that’s nice, and thank you for reading.

More than a platform in the sense of promotion of creative work, I see this blog as a roll of EKG paper. I breathe, my diaphragm moves and pushes thoughts, feelings and memories up to my brain. There, the words come. And down my arms and out my fingers they travel, and exist. It may live in the WordPress Cloud, but living, it is. There may be no sputum, no hard copy, and it doesn’t matter. The screen traces the sentences, whatever they are, and the blog is the machine which proves and memorializes the happening of words.

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