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I, Too, Blog Now

bloggers blogging blogs just to blog

  Mind you ladies and gentlemen, coming through! I know I’m out of line when I cut the line, but you need to get a load of this advice of mine. Here, let me pour it all over your poor brain, like platitude Bolognese over unquestioning Spaghetti. Trust me and believe me when I promise and swear that you need and have to read this right here and now:

There are people out there, who know things. And they know them better than you at that.

They call themselves bloggers. It’s derived from a blog – exactly, the sound a frog utters. Blog, blog.


They think their every line is important enough to stand solo in a solitary paragraph.


They dare saying things like: “You must,” “It’s amazing,” “Don’t ever,” “People should,” “We need,” or even, “Love is.” They use italic and bold characters, to untangle the deepest of their bottom lines.

However, whoever got enough time on their hands to strangle common sense with a string of generalizations, and to crochet a bunch of articles that allege enlightenment but smell like cheesy clichés, only ever using sentences that are short enough to keep everyone’s attention long enough while taking the hatchet to complex syntax and chopping every notion into sushi-messages that are fast to wrap up and easy to digest, might have seized the power of words wrongfully.


Everyone who thinks their blurbs – excuse me, burps – are important enough to start each paragraph with a beheaded heading, everyone who thinks they can outsmart life’s biggest questions witch the smallest answers, everybody who thinks they’ve cracked the stony dilemmas philosophers have cracked their heads on since Thales, everyone who thinks they need to dumb it down for us – their adult kindergarteners – might very well be full of it.

Those who do know things know better and have better things to do than to croak online. The wise are out there living by their words and if their words are worthy, they will be heard and spread and end up on paper and even screens, but they are never born there.

It goes without saying that everyone reading this here and now… yeah, you… has not found anything more fulfilling to do than staring at black lines on white screens. You fueled the blogger’s flame with your clicks and visits and likes which could never be what love is: mutual. Why are you still reading this? Don’t you feel like I hit you enough with this log or frog or blog or whatever it is? Why don’t you read your own mind? How come you are so cozy inside mine? Fair enough, at times people should curl up in someone else’s thought-chamber. There is some nutritious food for thought in some of those, so it isn’t all mumbo jumbo Bolognese. In fact, it’s amazing. Blogger mind-boggler.


But please, you must take the time to reflect upon my words. Don’t ever be embarrassed to make the comments your forum and shout “Smart ass suckaaaaaa” at me in disagreement and run away laughing, or to stop the hell reading already in agreement.


No, the irony isn’t lost on me.


Yes, I, too, blog now.


Yes, I, too, do the thing with the paragraphs. But in my case it’s different. My stuff is really important.


Every blob.



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