It seems that some people have found this blog.


Now, I don’t realy know what to say.

I mean…

Okay, here’s the thing.

Wait, that’s not what I wanted to say.

What I want to say is…

Okay, I know what I want to say.

There is a Kafka quote that I could, y’know, actually *quote* if I had eleven extra minutes and my pocket Kafka on hand, but it’s a letter to his friend or father or something, where he talks about his writing. He says that his writing mocks him, that it stands as a testimony to his inadequacy, mocking him. He likens it to an ink stain on the paper, leering up at him, refusing to be blotted or wiped up.

He writes it much better than I do. He’s maybe my favorite writer, although I didn’t realize that until I wrote that just now.

I’m not a good writer, despite what many of you think. Yes, you all think I’m a great writer, and you’re wrong. What I’m good at is writing in my own voice. I’m good at making these words sound exactly like what I’m thinking, misspellings and all.

But, what I’m thinking is very often unsavory. I have opinions that most people would disagree with. (I hate the political left, contantly embarrassed and humiliated by the intellectual rigidity and the emotional outbursts tied to aspects of the world that are actually deliberate and free of humor, but I absolutely *loathe* the political right because of its deliberate laziness and anti-intellectualism, combined with a selective bleeding heart and a blind unthinking committment to its leaders.

When I listen to the left using slogans that rhyme, or puns, or even anti-Right bashing posing as stand-up comedy, I just sort of lower my head and keep walking. “When Clinton Lied, Who Died?” is one of those things that simple minded fuckwads embrace as a political stance, and they just make it harder for the rest of us.

When I listen to the right explain why gay people shouldn’t marry, why civil liberties should be curtailed to prevent terrorism, why the death penalty helps society but abortion hurts it, I don’t lower my head. I stand agape and wonder why intelligent people don’t follow through to logical conclusions.)

But the problem is, I write this blog almost as an excretion. There have been times, like the zombie blog a few days ago, where I was honestly thinking about zombies late on night. We’ve been talking about producing a few horror plays in October, and I’ve been thinking about the nature of horror, and I had zombies on the mind. When I sat down to write my zombie treatise, I realized that it could be a very subtle dig at the Bush administration. Or a support of the Bush administration. You could read it either way.

But, more often than not, I write a blog about a) whatever play I’m doing b) how hard my life is or c) how great my life is. Very often, C comes out as a love ode to my wife or my friends or the weather or New York. B comes out as a rant about my work, or the weather or New York.

I’m not saying I’m gonna stop writing. I have a feeling that the people who find my blog and who love me will take the medicine with the sweet, and anyone who dislikes me isn’t gonna like me any less. But I do feel stymied by the idea that if I talk about headaches, I very well may get a call from Long Island reminding me to drink more water.

Speaking of which, I do have a headache. And I am gonna go drink more water.