The
wonderful thing about blogging (or White Voiding) is that one can sit down at
the ‘personal PC computer cryptic workstation’ and just peruse: What the
dickens am I gunna write today? What is
there to write about? Or not write
about? Nothing. There’s nothing to not write about. Apart from politics,
religion, and science. You want to read something boring, go and check out The
Financial Times, The Independent, or The Daily Mail. You want to read something
free and off the hook (can I describe myself that way?), then stick around
here.
The White Void on 'the cryptic' (PC)
is not any longer actually a white void, because I change the colour of the
screen whenever I type on Microsoft Word these days (still on Word, I know).
It’s a cool feature, a great compliment to the brightness/contrast controls.
Between them, you can get the screen glowing with just the right amount of
‘starkiness’ in a colour scheme of your preferred choice. Excellent late at
night when the lights are down. Right now I’ve got the screen in a popular
shade of charcoal grey (not that it matters), but you have to be careful,
because, depending on the heaviness of the colour of the screen, it can make
the flashing cursor difficult or impossible to see. Not that any of this
matters. I’m just saying. About the White Void. On paper, White Void is White Void,
because I don’t know any writers who print on coloured paper. I have wrote on
teabag-stained paper though before, I hasten to admit. Isn’t it great, that
teabag-staining trick? Probably the best cheap gimmick in art that I know of.
Do you know
what I’m on about, or do I have to explain it? Just in case you’re thick, all
you do is stain a piece of paper with a half-damp used teabag to create an old
timeworn yellow effect. I do it all the time (going one step further to
carefully burn the edges of the paper with a lighter to up the overall crispy
blackened-edge worse for wear look – what’s that White Void you’re on about?).
Is that
enough about the White Void? It’s never
enough about the White Void. It’s like totally interesting, dude. Like how you
dip your feet in, fall into it, then batter it. ATM (at the moment), I’m
fairing terrifically well against this charcoal grey affair. Again, not that it
matters. I’m just writing without a cause. A rebel without a gauze.
Do you
remember gauzes? Way back when, doing a bit of weed? The very first
store-bought cannabis pipe under the bridge maybe, or next to the bins, or
behind the shed? Those days were good. The taste of the resin was timeless. The
fact that it got you off your head was secondary, it was just the cool chic
thing to do back then. Now it would affect me differently; I’d be too paranoid
to enjoy the benefits (if there are any, apart from hearing music better). Perhaps
you’re a blazer who loves his chong, and I say fair play to you. Wouldn’t it be
nice for you to try my drug of choice for a bit, while I try yours? Cocaine, if
you must know. Loads of drug rehab and therapy, it’s an awful long story…I even
wrote a poem about it…
Since I left
school from the age of 16 to early twenties I did nothing but blaze, buying
ounces of resin (it was mostly resin back then) with my giro once every two
weeks and still having a tenner left by the time the next one landed. It was a
tight budget I was on but I was splendid with it because weed was the only
thing in need. I longed for nothing else but pot which was always available and
affordable. It was enough for me back then; there was no predilection for
pills, pastes and powders – you know, all that heavy junk which really undoes
you in the end.
I used to
watch pornography while stoned, always fumbling a spliff and the remote control
with my spare hand. At one point in my youth I was watching it on multiple
screens, on a 'video player and a DVD' hooked up at the same time. Maybe, as time
goes on, I’ll be brave enough to write about pornography here at piebald77; I’m
currently blueprinting the best way forward in divulging all of my personal
life online. Should I stick my balls on?
I HAVE to
deal with crap. Best place is here. And nobody’s reading, so there’s no
embarrassment. Even if they are, I don’t mind. It’s not as if someone is going
to approach me in real life on the street and say, “Oi Mr Donny, about your
bollocks on the blog last week…” Even if they did, I’d batter them. So stay
tuned for some very personal content coming here in the foreseeable. I don’t
care for personal shit. When you’ve lost all your privacy, you tend not to. But
anyway, take care of yourself until the next time. I really mean that. You can
never be too careful. And stop stroking vicious dogs.
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