Wednesday, February 17, 2010


I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened.

When my writing turned away from disaffected observances on chemical weapons, insurgencies, sociopolitical ruin and macaroni - But reading back through my archives I can see that closer and closer to t-0 I've been saying less and less about the world and more and more dribbling wanks (admittedly interesting, fun-to-read dribbling wanks) about my mind-crushingly dull obsession with strange narcotics, how much I keep fucking everything up, and why it's EVERYONE ELSE'S FAULT.

Fuck that shit.

I want to write about something. The closest I've come to honest creative output were two half-written chapters of spuriously-inspired holiday cyberpunk fiction - Which in retrospect, have promise. Just takes moar dedication and inspiration.

I always liked the concept of professional journalism. Hunter S. Thompson showed the world that you could be a drug addled, drag-racing gun nut and still be one of the most prolific and loved journalist/authors of our generation.

And even though readership has clearly dropped of late, I wonder if I could manage to put together serious opinions on a topic without breaking into florid tangents about wires, and veins...

As an electronic music producer and DJ, one would naturally assume music journalism to be an area to stick my nose into - God knows I'm at all the major events in this shithole town anyway; and for a shithole town we can manage to bust out some pretty ubersick productions.

I wouldn't mind being a food critic - I'd like to think I have a fairly discerning palate, but it kinda lacks that outlaw integrity. I might do an odd review column on a seperate blog page if I find enough drive in me.

But yeah. Music journalism sounds good. And if written in the gonzo style, I can still push the 'Yay drugs' platform - With room for frothing-mouthed tangents about the philosophical implications of making brutal wobbling love to the tube amp in a Korg EMX-1 synthesiser.

I dunno. Prob'ly gonna wind up yet another tired stub of grey wax in the 'productive things to do with my life' minora. I don't seem to be able to get anything to really stick these days. Plans, jobs, relationships. Most of that's my fault.

But life doesn't seem to be doing much to help.

Anyway. Time to get out the typewriter. This friday night. 16-Bit is playing at a local club. 16-Bit is worldfucking dubstep of the grimiest oscillatory proportions. Hope I can still score a ticket!


1 comment:

Nooor said...

Put your mind to it and you'll become a journalist.

By the way, I love your writings, regardless of the topic they are about. You're a very talented writer, keep up the good work!

I hope you are not thinking about writing differently because you might be slightly worried about the opinion of your audience. Never mind what the audience thinks of your writing, write what you truthfully think, honest opinion pulls the reader in. You use such powerful words and metaphors, and they effectively make the reader cringe or laugh. Even if you wrote about the most dry uninteresting topics, your writing style would make the topic intriguing, and that, I think, is what is so impressive about your writing. :)