The Boiling Rage blog is one year old today. I’ve now been tapping the plastic keys on my QWERTY keyboard for the last twelve months in the hope of getting accidentally discovered and being found to be mildly entertaining. During this time, I’ve tried to post at least a single article a week and I’ve stuck to this regime most of the time, although for some reason I’m looking at 44 posts for 52 weeks, which gives me a shortfall of eight missing entries, seemingly lost forever somewhere in the virtual ether my blog dwells. Now, it’s unknown whether these lost paragraphs and misplaced snippets are of any consequence to Humanity or if their eventual discovery will tip the balance of the universe in favour of good against evil, so conjecture is irrelevant (but nice to presume): personally, I’m not holding my breath, though anything’s possible when faced with the unexpected sighting of such wordily slop.
Well, what have I learnt during the time I’ve written over 60,000 words? I’ve learnt keeping this banal rhetoric flowing is incredibly taxing when trying to just get on with everyday life and its myriad of minutiae; I’ve learnt trying to dredge up the depths of my fractured psyche is bloody hard work, especially when facing a mountain of suppressed memories; and I’ve learnt that once you start shovelling the stifling crap out of the way of your creative mind, you can begin to structure some real gems which may just be deemed worthy of your own stringent adulation. It’s more surprising I’ve managed to stay writing after taking so many years off “chasing the prose” and I just hope with the imminent renewal of my .com and .co.uk domain names, I can continue to form, meld and create my mind-doodles for future server internment.
So, it’s onwards into a second year of writing in the hope my gibberish may be unearthed and perhaps even appreciated by some like-minded persons of unbalanced mentality, who may just get some enjoyment from it as they nod along and smile when reading my musings. Now, whether these followers are in the process of performing their sickening serial killer hobbies, are walking around yelling, squawking and yelping in public or just masturbating while rolling about in their own faeces is a moot point, really: a regular reader makes a happy audience and ultimately, a happy audience becomes a gaggle of brain-washed devotees, hanging on your every questionable utterance regarding this, that or the other and of course, future World domination...
Ah, now that’s what I call a Boiling Rage-filled year to look forward to!