Old School and the Devil's Tool

0126 hours, (Supa Scoopa and the Mighty Scoop from Desert Sessions playing):
I was watching the new Dexter episode and it got me thinking that I skip the opening credits to every show (except for the few that have a new gag every time) but I always end up going through the Dexter one, episode after episode. The accompanying eery score fits in to contextual perfection and everything about the sequence, from the shaving to the frying of eggs to the slices of orange to the tying the laces, whispers a dark intent to the audience. Dexter makes psychosis look easy. I love the show. I have it paused just so I could "blog" about loving the show. In fact I love it so much I'm going to go back to it.

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(useless dashes I made to signify the passing of time)

Speaking of blogging, a friend of mine just recently chanced upon phkd and decided that I was insane. Not for the flattering reasons of content but because, indignantly saying, of the fact that I just blog. Let's get some facts straight. I don't blog. I bog. And that too not often. Mentioned friend added I'm likely to kill myself because of this "bogging". He was convinced I'll find some tangible evidence of this correlation between suicide and blogging if I google hard enough. And I'm going to blog my suicide note. Apparently every literate person is suicidal because they are able to write a suicide note. And I'm crazy?

I've been bogging before blogging even came into play. The earliest entry on my now mutilated site is dated July 16th, 2002. Geek pride was on a high those days. I had a site with its very own cool address, no blogger blogspot wordpress bullshit. Gunsareblazing.com lasted for about a year before a man in Florida realized he did not pay $100 for internet registration and bandwidth. Going on it right now just sent me down a nostalgic hole, full of emo writings and high school. It's funny how the old site's called stimuli for insanity, which is exactly what my friend accused this blog of being. The site did have cryptic text all over and it was made in my A level days at Pats, a very defining time that set the tone for my actions and behaviour to this day. It felt like somebody tried to turn a very rusty switch on (or off, from a perspective) for a excruciating period of a year and then...then there was light. I learnt that sex and drugs and rock (not so much roll) are the Devil's tools. And should be used wisely. It was an adjustment that I dealt with with different hands and writing was found to be an effective way to rid teenage angsty shit. Writing words just seem to even out the flow. It introduces a little coherency to the wild. Talking is chaos and writing is order. But hardly in order. It's frustrating when the words don't come but so calming when they do. I'm never more comfortable than when in self-expression. Much contrary to allegations of insanity and suicide. Maybe crazy's comfortable too.

(a quick wiki told me I was wrong, the concept of blogging beat my "bogging" by three years)