Posted by The Happy Tutor
So, I am curled up in a fetal position in my Dumpster with the lid down, out behind Wealth Bondage. I am drunk and depressed, and after 5,000 posts over 7 years, and over 15,000 comments, very much alone in the silence. Hanging from the side of the Dumpster is a sign, "Do Not Disturb." Nevertheless, comes a knock, and an educated voice inviting me to an academic journal of culture theory to discuss, "Why I Blog." Isn't that just the way? When Godot comes, he will find Pozzo and Lucky hanging by the neck from that forlorn tree, if he ever comes. Then the friends who had abandoned me, seeing that I am about dead, decide to do a Festshrift in my honor - to make sure I stay dead, presumably, and that they can write Finis beneath my corpus.
Why don't I blog, then, Michael?
The internet feels at first like the public square, or town green, where we ordinary people can meet at will and make sport, make mock, dance, drink, hold festivals, express ourselves, make friends, find lovers, engage in fistfights, run around wearing silly masks as at Carnival, and generally call the official world of distinguished ladies and gentleman, the whole world of Wealth Bondage, into question.
Why I don't blog is that the internet is more than a tangled system
of pipes, or the last commons, it is also the only medium where
everything you have said is recorded, indexed, and surveilled. Your
so-called "real life," or "authentic self" is held in place by certain
markers and rules, your Social Security number, your credit score, your
resume or rap sheet, your job, the automobile registration, the handgun
permit, the license for your dog, the petty rules of good manners, the
neighbors watching your comings and goings, your boss, paycheck, policy
and procedure manual, job description, org chart, and time clock. That
is enough to make reality real. Yet the internet that feels so free is
already a perfect Panopticon. We may write drunk at 3 am, in a fliting contest with another blogger, yet years later that post may show up on Candidia Cruikshank's
desk during a performance review or in the hands of a big potential
client, or during a trial in which you stand accused of whatever is
then called "treason."
"Why did you blog this?" asks the Boss, or Judge. "Why did a perfectly responsible person like you, with a good job in Wealth Bondage, as Dungeon Master to the Stars, blog material that betrayed everything we in Wealth Bondage stand for? Why, Sir, for what appears to be nothing more than a lame joke, did you feel compelled to throw away your career, your reputation, now perhaps even your freedom or your life, just to write this stupid post making mock of Candidia Cruikshanks herself?"
And what do I say then? "I thought it was funny at the time"?
"Please, Sir, I won't do it again." "I was only joking"? "I did not
Honestly, I don't know why I ever blogged. I regret every single post. I would retract it all, if I could, but you can never erase what you have done on the internet; they keep backups, searchable backups. The Author Function is dead going on four years now, and I am not feeling too good myself. So, please, leave a condemned man to himself. I have a lot to think about, and much to be forgiven for, before I meet my Maker, whoever he or she may be.
I am trying to get Born Again in the hope they will let me back inside Wealth Bondage, if I give them my soul, never laugh about about wealth and power again, and keep myself on the good side of boss, client, God and country. So, yes, if I can cut a deal with the Prosecutor, I might blog again, but not under my own name. Next time, if there is a next time, I am going to keep it on the up and up. Mind my manners and no bad language. Strictly according to Hoyle. I love Candidia Cruikshanks; long live Wealth Bondage! This is The World We Want. Now shut the fucking lid and leave me alone.
I am gone to meet my Creator. He or I will return to save the living and dead, if you can tell them apart.