Hey Raymi Since when did you care about what people think of your blog? Can’t you just block people from commenting when they’re pissing you off? You should put the comments back on. And cheer up! Most people, or, at least me, love reading your blog and commenting, and responding to comments is the funnest part. Who gives a fuck what people say? Ignore them, and if it really makes you mad, tell us to go spam their email or inbox and we’ll give ‘em shit so they know what it’s like to have complete strangers pick on them. Besides, when your book comes out next week, don’t you want us all to tell you how awesome it is? You rock People suck That’s life Hope you’re doing alright! Oceans of love, Kira
they outnumber me and i have limited banning powers comments will be back up again eventually see you said that comments are the funnest part so my blog has become about other people and not me which is ironic seeing as it’s been said that i am self-centred and in love with myself though i allow fuckheads to chat away like i’m running a fucking messageboard for them i don’t have the time for it and i don’t gain anything from it
well, well, well…this whole experiment has gone to hell hasn’t it. you, while obviously crazy, are inundated with comments that denigrate your prose while every half-wit leaves paige comments that feed into a culture of pseudo hipness that results in acute boredom when i read ‘em. i know you both; you don’t deserve the b.s. tell me, where do we go from here? that’s not a rhetorical question. i need answers. if all this fails to make sense, i am slightly inebriated, which says less for my state of mind than it serves as a sorry excuse. be strong, serve god only know that if you do beautiful heaven awaits…your pal in idealism crippled by cynicism enlightened by writing masked by sarcasm and a bitter contempt of the world that sprouted up around us. until you say when…
Pierre
im not crazy. i know exactly what i am doing. anything hip or a pseudo form of it is so gay as is everyone else and his mother. so many insults, so little time. what the fuck happened to your piece of shit blog by the way?
If we’ve learned anything from Steve Perry Era Journey, and I believe we haven’t.
I’m sorry that the Internet rabble is getting you down. I guess that is the unfortunate side effect of instant publishing. Instant unfiltered feedback. It can be petty, harsh and unmerciless.
Don’t let it get you down.
Your (and Px’s) blog inspired me to get off my arse and start sharing my work with others. I think it is very brave to do what you do. Until recently I agonized over things for days, printed them out, then burried them in my closet.
I found the third paragraph of your book excerpt really moving and evocative.
Don’t let the cowards stifle you.
cheers Aron
thanks man im just in the middle of really hating people right now and most of the time i do quite enjoy a little back and forth banter and f you-ing but there’s just too many of them and just one of me, i mean i do appreciate the ones who say nice things and who back me up but after awhile it’s like what the fuck are we doing here? what a waste of time. i don’t care what these people have to say to me or about me, i’m not even hurt it’s just irritating is all and that’s exactly what they want and i feel gay to even make an issue of it. i only wrote on my blog that i was taking down comments to avoid hundreds of emails saying hey man where’s the comments?
We’ve never really talked, in comments on your website or email, but I’ve always admired you from afar. I always figured you didn’t need building up because you had such a strong following of readers, but apparently fanboys who don’t know how to express themselves and haters are more vocal than those like me.
What girl bloggers I read have similar problems, which is sad. Interaction, feedback and conversation is what makes posting your thoughts, stupid moments and publicizing your private life- that much more interesting. To quote a movie, “The benefit of meeting others is that they may introduce you to yourself.” Without comments, another avenue for that to happen is killed. That’s part of what frustrates me. Not that you’re not surrounded by enough people in your real life to keep life interesting and to keep you honest and beautifully balanced, but limitations are limitations and who ever wants options unavailable?
Maybe I’m taking this too far, it’s 2am here and I’m over-analytical during the daylight hours to begin with. The more delirium sets in, the worse my overthinking gets.
You’re welcome or I’m sorry, depending on what this email ends up being to you.
Love ya. Take care.
-packphour
i will be putting comments back up again eventually i just don’t see them as a right and i really dont have the time anymore for reading about how shitty and shallow i am like i fucking know all about that already it’s relieving not having to go thru a bunch of comments but yeh thanks for your email
i’ve removed comments. i just don’t have the patience to go through them right now or to hear the same shit over and over about my writing or how much in love with myself i am. i didn’t create a forum on my own goddamn website solely for people to criticize everything i do, i don’t care for you people. i can be reached by email.
Here is an excerpt from my book which will be available in a week’s time.
I don’t know how I should I finish this book because I don’t know what is next for me in life. Will I clean up my act? Will I get a job, or my driver’s license even? Who knows.
You know that Jack Kerouac went his whole life on the road writing his alcoholic what-have-yous and he never even drove or had his license. Isn’t that amazing?
I know that inevitably I will obtain my license, I just have this terrible test anxiety now, it runs in the family. My mom didn’t get her license ’til she was much, much older.
I know that one day when I have a car and something goes wrong, I’m just going to drive and drive and drive until I am in the desert, until my hair dries out and turns golden white, until I am wearing cowboy boots and listening to crackly static on the radio and I have a bottle of scotch whiskey between my legs, until I reach that tiny payphone and call you up and tell you to meet me by the cactus and the lagoon, until you are the last voice I hear before I am gone.
You know, stupid romantic bullshit like that.
I want to tell you something insightful and I want to leave you with some hope about me and where I am going to next and if I will tell you about it when I get there, but I sometimes worry that once I finish writing this, I will have nothing left.
I can’t go off on another fucked up adventure and lose my mind and become a whole new person with new visions and experiences. This depression I have, this is what I have, this is all I have it feels and this book is like my memoirs I think.
Memoirs at twenty-two. That sounds like a good title.
