“Content is the easy part!”
This decidedly impotent declaration is offered to no one in particular. That is, to say, there is no one else presently strolling through my apartment with sufficient time to offer any of a range of salient rebukes to my profoundly oversimplified and misguided position re: Compelling Website Materials.
Notwithstanding the dearth of other humans, even the spittle of Sunday rain seems to admonish my perspective.
*plit plit plat* …cogent thematic presentation, unfettered by aimless philosophical dithering and masturbatory platitudes, makes for more engaging and accessible reading… *plit plat*
Whatever. You don’t know me. You’re just a blustery cold front, rolling through to unexpectedly dash the hopes of children previously intending to frolic about the yard in search of BPA-laced eggs containing semi-melted early-onset diabetes. You know, Bible stuff.
Back to the task at hand.
“You know, all you really need is a starting idea. A foundation. A nucleation site, of sorts, from which other plans and artistic explorations might launch!”
*plat plit plit*
God. This sounds like copy from a speciously administered self-help program. The kind you find advertised on a flier in the laundromat, while you’re loafing around in your cookie pants, silently judging the other headphone-bedecked patrons. Cute “You’d Go To Jail For This” tank-top, champ. You’re 48. And a man.
Who decided the vertical line endemic to all word processing programs would be a suitable weapon with which to conquer writer’s block, anyway? If anything, it’s akin to an inky middle finger, rhythmically poking above the surface of an otherwise blank canvas, perpetually reminding you of the highly quantifiable degree to which you have failed to compile anything of substance.
Speaking of substance, it looks like the bell tolls for Baja. I bet a toasty chicken burrito and some salty chips will prop my personal muse back in front of his or her derelict typewriter. I think the circumstances may even call for additional guacamole. One can’t be “too equipped” when it comes to accommodating the food-based predilections of a literal and figurative starving artist, after all.
Closed for Easter. Of course.
Papists.
Cascades of coffee give way to Cascade hops, malted barley and an increasingly blurred sense of unmitigated failure. What is a website, anyway? Should this not be a medium to challenge the puerile post-post-post modern notion that a website even needs to have content to begin with?
Unshackle yourselves from this slavish devotion to anachronistic platform, o ye of the plebeian masses! Embrace a new future, made brighter, in part, by your piercing progressiveness, but also primarily because websites will now be composed solely of white space! And in that immeasurable expanse of pale, find your own definition of beauty!
Or, perhaps more likely, another inky middle finger, taunting you from the far side of the colorless abyss.
You know what? Forget finding the perfect launch point for this series of familial stories. The flawless picture. The unimpeachably inoffensive tone. The bleached and scrubbed distillate of a family circus that doesn’t involve Jeffy precociously observing the tastiness of corn. We’ve never been that way.
Let’s just go do something.
We’ll figure out the rest later.