So why start a blog? I have failed signally at keeping diaries in the past, and enough of yer workaday problems I translate into writing of one form or another.
Weeeell, I think it's partly the discipline of the thing. I don't expect to have this read at all except by the occasional far flung friend or utterly random person. I can't quite remember who it was (but I think it was Raymond Queneau) who wrote something about the conscious mind being taken up with tasks and letting the subconscious have it's head. Maybe that's the point of this whole thing, let the subconscious have it's head. It'll probably be infrequent, but then again I may become obsessed by the whole idea and post to it voraciously. One can never tell.
I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer. That deserves prison. No , I'm referring to the hinterla...
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