The Dust Settled...

I don't pay a great deal of heed to statistics when it comes to my blog, mainly because if I have one or two readers, I'm a happy guy. 

I don't force the thing down people's throats, I don't use a blog manager to promote the work, and I have had a readership of maybe 20-30 for a couple of years. 

Today...I looked at the stats and the readership has jumped to 120. 

I assumed it was a mistake, but the readers have doubled and even tripled in some cases. 

I have been working so hard on my writing...finishing my book, trying everything I can think of to outsmart the drill instructor and father figure in my head who wants me to fail...so I can put a few things together without it being capsized by my own criticism...

& today?  I'm going to allow myself to be a little grateful. 

& to thank...whomsoever...for believing either in me- or my work.

Or maybe both. 

Thank you.  You keep me alive. 

Maybe...I'll die another day instead. 

That many people give a damn about my work?  That's enough to put my father in his place. 

Given that he's dead and burned? 

That's dust in the wind, my friend. 

Colour of Faith...

I have been reviewing some of my written material lately; & looking back over my work the last few years...

It looks all over the place. 

Frankly?  It couldn't be more transparent. 

It appears to be the thoughts of a person who wants to give up on human beings...but cannot.  No wonder my writing looks like that of a person with a mood disorder. 

Even though for the sake of our sanity, health and well being, we probably should- even though every fibre of our being screams at us to leave the wretched humans to their own devices to die in screaming pots of shit- many of us cannot do it. 

I cannot do it. 

I can NEVER do it.... 

So my work seems to move from one pole to the other, clearly motivated by episodes of disappointment, & moments of hope.

I'm also working on finishing my book at the moment...& looking back over that material...it's the same thing. 

It looks like I have some sort of mental disorder;

but really...the only disorder I have is that I want to disconnect myself from humanity and the despicable things done by them, and live in the wild... 

But I simply cannot give up. 

As foolish as it might seem- I really cannot break the connection I have with my species- however tenuous. 

For I will then be breaking away from myself. 

We are connected; and although it drives me batty, all most humans are doing is denying this connection we have. 

And in that ignorance- they do cruel, selfish and inhumane things.

To drift away from EVERYONE will not help. 

It won't help me, nor anyone else. 

& the only way I can process this conflict is by writing it. 

So I will probably continue until I die...writing like I have some kind of mental disorder. 

& if refusing to give up is the name of that disorder? 

Then colour me pathological.