The Last Middlespace Post

Found a note in my gmail inbox this morning. It was from me: "Kill the blog." That was all it said and there was no context or further explanation.

So, how do you kill a blog? Yeah, I think “Middlespace Live” as a blog is dead. Well, blogging is dead, but I’m Mr. Dead Blog.

I mean, I never attempted to write a blog. Blogs are retarded. Blogs are gay. I don’t care enough about my life to fucking web log (the verb). It’s not that I don’t care about my life. You know me, I LOVE my life. Viva Ty! Sorry. What I mean is, shit, I don’t have “bloggy” adventures. No sex. No drugs. No groupies. No drunken takedowns. No suicide attempts. No heroin. More sandals than scandals. Yawn. I’m a middle-aged unemployed black man. That ain’t special. That’s nothing. I only got into this thing because I was feeling particularly obstinate. I’ve been posting to this silly ass thing for five years.

On July 18, 2002, I posted this fruity poem [clicky]. WTF, huh? I guess there was a reason. But, other than self-serving, self-mythologizing boredom-induced idle-time-on-my-hands, I'm not sure what it was.

It’s not like a web log is going to reveal all the truths. A moderately cautious individual does not post the actual trials and tribulations about ones inner-life on the intenets. You’ll get stories, but you’re not getting anything close to truths. Nowhere. Mostly. And, frankly, I’m tiring of the mock-seriousness of “blogging.” Who the fuck cares, right? Opinions and hyperbole. So what to do?

And, most of my trials and tribulations occur in my head. I’m nutty as a bag of trail mix. I don’t text message (I guess if Edson does, maybe I should too). I’m shy and demanding. I play baseball with the B. I bore myself. I watch Hell’s Kitchen, donkeys!

While I ponder what to do with “Middlespace Live” here’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you a classic dippy blog-like dilemma:

Dear Web Log,

Oh what should I do? Life is so unfair!!!! I had my interview with the professional photography school admissions counselor yesterday and IT WENT LIKE SO WELL! She is recommending that my application proceed, etc. Bottom line is I’ll probably get accepted. But, here’s the problem: is it worth $21,000? Is it worth the purchase of nearly 3 grand of equipment and books to take a nine-month certificate program?

I could save $21,000 and just buy the equipment and books and start booking gigs.

Oh, diary! What’s a pretty girl like me to do?

See? So bloggy, right? I puke in my mouth for you all everywhere. I never tell people that I have a goddamn blog or that “I have to go blog that” or any dumb crybaby shit like that. But, I just write stuff down. Put up some images sometimes and move on. I mean it’s just electronic masturbation or whatever.

But, and you knew there was a “but,” but I kind of like doing it. Not in a recreational drug kind of way [have I ever mentioned recreational drugs on my “blog” ever?], but in a finding-my-voice therapeutic sort of paradigm.

Eggh! How wishy-washy bloggy of me to be all should I or shouldn’t I blog. I mean people are dying in Darfur but what should I do about professional photography school? I mean, Paris Hilton bought a surfboard. See? I’m getting on my own damn nerves now.

While I continue to ponder, here’s a nother tidbit.

Sketch of Lyrics From Toward the End of My Notebook

Yeah! Shit motherfucking yeah!

Dave Wave sent me this ill fucking mix
It’s a town full of a title of a song

Hostages to perceptions
Mo sounds like a junky

Just play a 9-stroke roll here
And I’ll make you famous

Jesus! Who could stand that shit? I don’t! Sure we’re in a holy war and I have to decide on professional photography school, but I am right in the middle of working on the Greatest Album Ever Recorded and The Picture Book Even Better than Richard Scarry’s Best Book Ever. Ever! And, I waste my time with a goddamn pansy ass web log? Tattoos of Disney characters all over my face. Who has the time?

An insecure mope for sure.

[An aside: Sorry, I had to cut out for a minute because I’m listening to Jimi and just had to sample the opening beats to Little Miss Lover for a project. See? Life is sheer hell I tell you. Speaking of which, I just made this loop in like four minutes. How did we make music in the prehistoric times of the mid 90s? Jesus what was that? Also, why isn’t there just ass loads of totally kick ass music all over the place given how easy it is to make music nowadays? Oh, most people don’t have a talented cell within their entire beings, that’s why.]

[Another aside: Fuck, they sell Icky Thump at the Starbucks. Well, OK, to be honest, Starbucks can sell my music too. Speaking of which, if you are listening out there Hyundai Corporation of America. You have a good car, but your brand is awful. You can use some of my music for your ads. Rich says it OK too. For free er for real cheap. Just call me (“c-c-c-call me!”). NO problem.]

Where was I? Oh yeah, this god forsaken blog… Oh, diary, what to do? And, then there’s the other one. The bastard stepchild that is RhinoSnort. Are there any others? How the hell would I know?

One solution is to kill RhinoSnort and get back to one quality blog. Did I just use the phrase “one quality blog”? Dear God in heaven what am I saying? That’s it, I’m out!

You’re on you own here, people. [clicky]