Why Impoverished Observers Have Exceptional Difficulty Contributing

Why I Haven’t Been a Good Contributor, Period.

Honesty has its virtues, but…you’re probably not going to like this. But before I start, I want to say that the last post was humiliating.  But necessary. My standards are above me.  I’d be glad to invite someone else here.

As the saying goes: in life, alter the world the least.  Or something like that.

But I’m a “rebel.”  And I pay the price for pointing out to the other children that the “9 with a line over it” is a freakin’ underlined-‘6’ — rotate the card!  But the boy in front of me refused to see that.  It could of been the other way around.

I was five.  Add stature disparities and accidentally walking into an occupied bathroom. It was the time when my “super-conscious” anxiety started.

I wasn’t even good at math.  Logic wouldn’t matter much, but I recognized the digit. Like many children of the generation I was distracted with video games, had only the divorced love of my parents and…more entertainment.  I would become an observer.  And in being such a coward to even the point of mocking classic songs, I was certain to get through high school without being bullied and without getting into fights.  The wrong way.

I wouldn’t make friends; people would have to befriend me.  Sad, but true.

In One’s Existing, Neutrality Is Impossible

“Observer” or not, you can’t be neutral.  That balance just won’t happen.  Zero-sum games don’t work.  For justice to be blind, you can’t cheat.  You can’t resort to easy solutions.  Reality has safeguards.

I was too late to learn the real lessons.  Seeing later the reality for what it truly is, I may have conquered a lot of internal junk, but I still consider myself one of the ugliest people in the world.  Unattractive and immature, my existence is.

And being exceptionally slow in learning what really counts puts bad timing at #1 in the 7 Reasons Why Impoverished Observers Have Exceptional Difficulty Contributing:

1. Bad Timing

The flow is horrible.  It’s made me a pretty angry person, not being able to finish what was started days earlier.  Well, that and all that time listening to talk radio.

Still stuck using public access machines?  (The Versatile Blogger Award will never be in my arsenal of award projectiles.)  With competing plans, so much time wasted, in between reading others and the news, for me to write I risk being unable to show at all the next day!  And so appears the 40-hour-plus gaps.

The delayed response: your longer content is read offline.

The “temporary” solution: I turned off ‘comment moderation.’  —I still read it all though, and respond to questions when I can.

I’m still sometimes confused when Likes are dropped without a comment as to why…

2. “The Confusions”

Apart from the bad ideas and having too many ideas, and having neither research connections nor funding, and drawing a blank so often from inadequate discipline, or too much and too little information, and too little trust because of all this…or the conflicts, of “being both young and old,” sitting, wondering, ah, Gahd, what the f— come-on!  Think! —It’s just when I start to write, and I can only imagine piping one or two paragraphs total… or nothing.  (Fear the blank page while being stupid?)

And in sometimes downloading HTML-only (sans-images)…How many ‘females’ in this social network are actually dudes?

3. Uncontrollable Distractions

Infestations: mice, insects—I’m always having to kill some invader.  Bastards: these animals are born out of wedlock after all.

With the habit of pulling all-nighters, and thus being incomplet, I’d rather go back to reading The Mysteries of Pittsburg, or talk about how good William Forsythe’s performance is in Boardwalk Empire—he’s like an entirely different actor, altogether!

Or talk about the horror/mystery-blog webseries The Unknown, starring Dominic M. from Lord of the Rings …and how bad The Unknown is.  The series stretches a lot.

I’d even want to mention that “miracle” of some rice on my paper plate forming into a question mark without any deliberate attempt on my part, or that the WordPress developers set the ‘alt’ attribute in gravatars to show “Blavatar” if the image isn’t available.

I struggle to do a better job, to add useful details, and end up rewriting constantly.  Let’s just say this paragraph originally featured the F-word.  And that brings me to…

4. Bad Thoughts (Scatology)

Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.  You have to be consistent enough in your humor, and make it work to have a following at all.  Le merde breaks dreams. Here’s an example.  I’d lose all of my eighteen  ten two followers if I were to “let loose.”  (Twitter, however, appears to have lower standards.)

4.1 Sub-category: “The Cheapening.”
It’s a different conversation around here—if  there is one.  Sick and tired of altering the manner…
Flies—I’m killing something lost, like me but…at least they’re put out of their misery.
The Unknown is emboldened in its reaching, and features bare asses; the show is em-bare-assing.
Noticing “Blavatar” I’m a dick-geek—or deek…a la ‘Dic’ at the end of “Captain Planet”.

4.1.1 Sub-sub-category: “The Creepening.”
If you can read this, you’re probably damaging your eyes.

5. It’s Already Been Done Before, Like a Repeat

Some people here give me hope.  No offense, but prosperity requires that lower point to start from.  Not to say that I’m in any way shape or form better than them.  And I don’t mean to—errrhghhgh…

Besides the settling retirees, or the professional/insane authors with an IQ of 136+, I found one who wrote a couple of novels, but the name of her (other) blog is Creative Liar. I could’ve sworn that it was her in the Sept. 17 issue of The New Yor— no, that was Jenny Allen.

Hey!— Wordsmith Magic also uses the Notepad theme!  1,518 followers so far.  And five months ahead in this fast-paced digital world.

And these possibly inappropriate mentions bring me to…

6. I Can’t Help but Make More Enemies, Regardless of Intent

Now we enter one of those periods where the sense of humor fails and, with misunderstanding, the distance from a real sense of humor grows.  Because such a fool that cares enough can’t find his/herself be able to tread lightly enough not to hurt others.

During a ‘reduced self-control’ phase, I made a another creepy joke, out format, and poked at spelling errors.  Thank God they got what I meant and weren’t disturbed.

I’m getting tired now.  And that’s when the sh*t hits the fan.  “The customer that doesn’t pay isn’t always right,” so let’s see how many comments I’ll make next time, possibly attracting hardlining partisans that’d tear me to shreds if they’d found out that I’m…

7. Being Great at Nothing but Destroying Myself, Ultimately

Adding to my peril, too much of my own pain has been made light of.  I might have gone far enough that the impression of my self-destruction has become “humor.”

Sure, many people that cope with tragedies carefully make fun with their experiences. For example, comedian Bob Saget developed the ballad “My Dog Licked My Balls,” a song of peanut butter-laced ‘oral-bestiality,’ performed on the guitar.

I’ve gutted and put aside quite a lot for this post, and hope you didn’t find it too crude. Is there anything you would like to add to this “Saga of Loserdom”?
—Or, as I live it would like to call, the saga of suck.

[10.24 Update: four word/graphical corrections, one sentence, one expression added to complete the flow.]

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