Conan May Save my Life

There's been a week-plus long dispute over Conan getting the boot for the Tonight Show. Jay Leno sucks, though remains relevant to the vanilla dogshit advertisers need to disseminate their mind control, and I'm reconciling being pissed about this. There's a loyalty I have for Conan, despite the fact that he's been made a filthy rich(er) bastard by it, because there's s greater crime against humor, art and expression. But the truth is Conan doesn't belong on that damn show, and I wasn't watching it already for a reason.

That mainstream world will not reconcile with subversion, and it's time I put a stake in the ground on where I am. Dancing between my personal life and my work life has led to a watering down of both the past few years, and there's something about that that's come to light when I reflect on the Conan situation. It's the same reflection that elucidates this damned writer's block I've maintained since graduation. I've lost the grit, the raw angst that matures from teenager woes into an edgy creator. I've been too damn angry, too damn starved for wealth and comfort.

It is time, dear reader if you're out there, to hear my proclamation: I am a creature of the night and darkness. I mean this by no melodramatic impulse, but by the simple fact that there's the world unaware and complacent, and the counter-world willing to push, and draw out, and dig into the parts of the human experience Carl Jung fancied. I'm done with my bullshit shyness of it, with the caveats and the compromises. I am queer, and a novice pagan, and a stone radical. I will forever love punk music, my hands dream of drums, and my gender-ambivalence continues to drive my lust and confusion. I'm sick of filters, and worried about who the fuck you are. The "idea" of a blog has sickened me for months so I've produced nothing, when really I have nothing but honesty to display. Bear with me if you will as this experiment finally is underway.

- name, TBD