on the 51st (blog neglect)

you've breached 20,000 words, a milestone of sorts, two dissertations, 15 short articles, almost a novella, or about 400 minutes of dictation, please god

but your last post, number 51, makes you wonder if you've lost your way

it's all become a bit... trite

when you started out, you were making points about things, thinking an argument through in the insomnia hours and then publishing it as best you could in the short time you spend on these things

what's happened to that impetus?

at some point room1004 became a stylistic exercise, and although that has its benefits, it makes the whole project feel a little impotent, a little self-indulgent

in fact, the majority of what you've written lately feels like nothing beyond wordy self-gratification

there's a time and a place for masturbation of this sort, and room1004, surely, isn't it

masturbation is fun, and has its role in all of our lives, but do it with enough frequency and it leaves you feeling tired, a limp, spent force, a lethargic bag of endorphins fit for sleep and unfit for the Real Thing

there's too many political posts sitting unfinished in your drafts folder, too many arguments spiked

so you're looking for a new focus

some time around 4am this morning, with cailín deas safely installed, nestling on your chest, contented in a cocoon of quilt and arms and warmth, a head of inevitably and adorably tangled hair rising and falling with your breath, you stare at the ceiling and get to thinking that maybe it's time i dropped this "you" nonsense, time i stopped placing so much narrative distance between me and my subject

it's time "i", the first of the diphthongs, re-entered the blog

i like "you", and you'll probably come back, but "i" gots to call the shots

it's my room, after all

you was fun, but like masturbation, the more you (or dare i say i?) do it the less special it becomes

you originally had a point, albeit a vague and inexplicit one, but you became a habit

and not a particularly healthy one for a 23-year-old male

lets try and leave that motif behind, shall we?

so we'll have less of the cryptic, day in the life two-liners from now on, posts that only the beloved few will ever understand

it's time to write with as universal an "i" as you (darnnit, i) can muster

the epidermic scarring on the base of your right wrist makes it strange that subjectivity of any sort would jar with you, but the subjective form is only worth a shit when you do it with good reason

which you wasn't

but it's more complicated than just deciding to change, for old habits are hard to break

so, here's a message to The Builder

Larry, oh Larry, where have you gone? You sent me off in to the blogosphere but that was the last I ever heard from you. Three months work and all I got in return was two digits - not a hand gesture, mind, but a mark. Now, more than ever, I need your guidance. The comments have dried up and I'm not sure if I'm wasting my time. Room1004 is a colder place since you left, despite the change of season. If you're still roaming through these parts, and if your righteous struggle against the right isn't taking up too much of your time, please come and visit, with comforting words and cruel wisdom, to direct this floundering, schizophrenic ship.

(hey, you, i'm still here... you, that is... have you considered that some day you'll regret this post and feel that you've been rash and irreversibly torn down the third wall? you know there's that possibility, and that i call the shots just as much as you do... you haven't heard the last of me)