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The response Iapos;ve received for yesterdays article reinforces one distinct thought Iapos;ve been toying around with the last few months.

I should get serious about writing.

This is neither a daunting or simplistic task. Its somewhere in the happy medium of interesting yet bland.

Bland because I canapos;t really think of what Iapos;d like to write about. When I originally started this journal, the intent was to focus on music. In all forms, facets and hideous faces. That fell through the cracks around the same time I was bugged by my current girlfriend to instead start posting on it about her. I fought this as hard as I could, giving up when it was decidedly obvious between pictures of us being posted and her logging into my account that I would not be able to keep it as pure as intended.

Now Iapos;m torn. I refuse to become a political writer. That is the low road to hell. I am not a sports person. I do not find high fashion to be the cornerstone of life. Everyone and their mom has decided technology and video games will be the niche market to fill. And frankly, there is such a small following for semi-intelligent insight into music that I feel I would be wasting my time fighting the tide against the Pitchfork Mediaapos;s of the world. Well, mainly just the one Pitchfork.

So hereapos;s my decision, if and when I find the medium for this that I want, let alone the drive to actually take on a task for once in my life.

I will write whatever the hell I please, as long as Iapos;m actually writing. That means you will get philosophy, you will get stories, you will get music and games and technology and lions, tigers and koala bears (theyapos;re cute as fuck and eat the most awesome sounding plant).

Now...to renew my Gather.com account. Wish me luck.
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