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I had to delete a post on this blog. I didn't dump it because the writing was necessarily that bad, though it probably did suck because I wrote it in a rush. It did, however, concern an event that occurred on Halloween night four years ago, which I called the "worst night of my life". Basically it was just me being provoked into acting like an asshole and I even managed to throw money away in the course of events. So if that's the worst night of my life, I'm doing pretty well. To tell you the truth I'm not sure it was. Lots of childhood crap is just built up in the pumphouse waiting for me to unlatch the door and let it gushing spill over all our feet. Fun, huh? Let's leave it in there how bout that.

It's not that I don't want to explore those "diary" kinds of feelings on this blog. But when I do it, I'm going to do it at length, I'm going to keep recriminations to a minimum, and I'm going to try to be objective. There was no point in what I wrote last night. Maybe there was, but it wasn't coming out and it wasn't going to be forced on after the fact. It just didn't fit the template of what I think I'm trying to do.

Which is what which is what which is what what what! yell the BDSM cheerleaders snarling and drooling, goly-adkin he's our man, if he can't do it chain him down! I don't know what it's for yet, I say, trying to keep my voice from a whimper. I may write about, you know, newspapery kinds of things.

And add to the ever thickening stack of politicking, hatred fear and bloodlusting eyes, farewell to discourse, wrap a rope around the neck of civility, innocence, curiosity, scribe cynical screeds, suck scabbard scrapings of excoriating skeletons, scold, scuttle, spare scant space for sculpted exculpation, scan the skies for scores of exocets, scrape scratches on the scope of a Scofield, scathe, seethe, skeeve?

No. I'd try to keep it personal somehow, and positive. Obviously I think, you know, that America's on the wrong track and that there's precious little that a Kerry victory would do to change that, but I don't find that interesting in and of itself. There's better things to talk about, smaller ones, less hypothetical, more fleshy.

Also I'd kind of like to get back to writing about music. Zappa said that rock journalism is people who can't write interviewing people who can't talk for people who can't read, but Zappa sucks anyways and you have to build your skills somewhere.

Get busy, chant the knife-wielding cheerleaders. Then they turn, upon the one, heading back to the sidelines, scowling.