BLAH, BLAH, BLOG.

     It is cyclical - collective vanity, societal obsession with self and perception of self. We are shiny monsters with skins made of broken mirrors. Just like us, past civilizations thought the idea that everyone matters meant that every voice should be heard at any time crying out to the ends of space and time as one ill-spirited chorus, "I AM SIGNIFICANT! I AM DIFFERENT! I AM BANANAS! I AM AMUSING! I AM INTRIGUING! I AM UNIQUE. NO, REALLY - I AM! I AM NOBLE! I AM REALLY COOL! I AM!" The power of Christ compels... We -all of us - who participate in these virtual circles and online tribes are pathetically infatuated with our translucent existence. Troubled teens extend global friendships and accelerate the evolution of adolescent duplicity at an alarming rate; Twenty-somethings lock themselves in elite bonds that grotesquely overshadow the hip cliques that they eschew; Thirty-somethings are self-made icons, three-headed gods and goddesses with one "I" and no soul - they project an infinity of platitudes for the unfulfilled to bathe in. They spend so much time pontificating and blogging pseudo-inspiration that I wonder how many lives they could really change at a morally-stricken juvenile detention center. How many months could they have helped alleviate a substantial amount of grief for the homeless? How many amnesty letters could they have impacted with their saintly presence or wisdom. Then, there are the forty-somethings - absolutely pitiful - empowered by medical advances to be the new teenagers and exhibiting the mental maturity to match.

     I stumbled upon MySpace i late 2005. I was online looking up info on a local hip-hop band, and, suddenly, a strange rabbit gave me a page and a mission. I was to use the blog to keep up with my progress as a perfoming artist, mostly with stand-up comedy. It was to be a gallant journey into deeper and more relevant spirituality, artistry, and more. I was to levitate above the demonic TV Talkers, the poisonous policy pushers, the perpetual pulpit pirates. I was to mount Rocinante and let the illumination through my sword to slay vampiric dragons that divert the indubitable truth seekers, to make it back to my center and evolve beyond the unnerving sexiness I currently exude. Many times have I lost my way and found myself dancing with wolves to the colorful, colostomy bag-piper’s melodic mind-snatching. I get lured by career carrots, obsessed with friend folly - the tricky happenings of socialites, seduced into mortifying grin-dens, 100 times more tranquilizing than optimum opium.

     Mood = Moody.

     Lately I have been one breath away from signing off for good - a click away from llapa-liberty! Oo-koo-he, Muhfuckas! But maybe that would be the most ill-ego move of them all. You think? Stay up. Tune in. Log on. I’m...

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