Making A Cult Of Myself & Other Things...

Fuelled by coffee laced with brandy the intrepid blogger sets of on an improvisational voyage...

I was thinking (yes, that’s the noise you heard) about the blog this morning, and how I might spend more of this week rambling in an improvisational fashion rather than posting scans from my book/magazine collection or whatever. After all, I give you material, but what do you give me, you ungrateful swine? Then blow me (that’s a figure of speech here in the UK, and probably elsewhere, NOT a request of a sexual nature, although...) and then spookily, I get a comment relating to that very thing.

(Pause)

Downton Abbey, The X Factor, Will Young, Come Dine With Me...

I’m trying to get more readers.

Kindle, Immortals, Little Mix, Stone Roses, Eurozone, Wayne Rooney and...um...Christmas...

I’m thinking that these words will attract visitors...like flies to shit...

Not the type of visitors I want, though...

Nietzsche said ‘You would multiply yourself by ten, by a hundred? You seek followers? Seek zeros!’, which is all well and good but he wasn’t a blogger, and if he was, I’m sure he would change his mind.

To be ‘followed’ as a blogger is something of an honour, I reckon. I have 26 followers, and find that quite amazing – that what I’m doing is liked well enough by some to be worthy of following. I think it’s enough to form a cult of some kind, although I’m not sure what kind of cult I want to create. And I’m damned sure I don’t want you living with me in a compound. The feeling’s probably mutual. Mind you, cult leaders have a knack of persuading followers to share their wives with them, so, maybe I’ll rethink...

I have enough on my hands with one partner, but I guess a cult leader doesn’t bother too much with the complications of a normal relationship. He probably leaves the toilet seat up in a very carefree manner and would laugh if one of his women suggested they go to Ikea. Me, I have good excuses not to go. It’s too far, we don’t drive, and it’s full of stuff I’m not interested in. The latter’s not a valid excuse for LJ, but sometimes you have to be honest. Not that it always helps in a relationship. Last night I visited my favourite whore, smoked crack, played a Will Young album (which she doesn't know I own), lost a fortune at poker and, worst of all, ate the last piece of chocolate in the house, and she hasn't discovered that yet. Don't tell her (about the chocolate, I mean), otherwise I'm in deep shit. She thought I was here watching telly.

I hope you’re taking all this in. The kind of wisdom I impart can’t be found anywhere else...not in these words exactly, because the wonder of this scribbling game is just that, the unique configuration of letters each of us welds together with a tap of the key to hopefully express our true selves.

Yet as I’ve said before, you can’t be self-conscious in the writing game, especially blogging. I’ve confessed a few things to you in the past...about what a sad bastard I am, with no friends, no style, no class and no education and so on. I might go back and delete all that; recreate myself as a clever bastard with finely-tuned taste. After all, it’s easy to appear to be clever with Google to hand.

I was thinking about clever bastards the other day when considering the Dome box set and how I was ignorant of them until a few weeks ago. I thought about those writers who seem to know about all that’s worth knowing in music. Like David Toop. Clever bastard. I don’t know how he does it. For starters, he probably paid attention at school, which enabled him to write very well in later life. Then he spent years investigating everything from Hip-Hop to Japanese Improv. Somewhere along the way he’s managed to read a lot of  books and make music. Bastard! I do envy him. In a way. In another way, I think ‘Hell, I AM SOMEBODY!’, to nick a famous phrase from black civil rights protesters in 60s America. There’s a famous photo of a marcher wearing a placard with the legend painted on it. I might make one for myself and walk up and down Camden High Street. Why not?