I think you just do.
The last time my blog existed on this earth, everybody in my family was still alive.
Alas, that was one of the reasons why it had to go on an extended break.
Then Gamergate began frogboiling us all and I tried to Homer myself into the bushes just as my father fell into psychosis—and the movement—and put all our lives at risk for a while.
Then, you know, DJT happened. Which introduced a fresh trauma or re-opening of old traumas every single day until every single one of us was hoarse from screaming into the abyss so much that we forgot what it was like not to feel hoarse.
And then there’s the COVID-19 Era, which we are still fighting through, still hunkering down in tatters almost two years in. It’s too soon and too close to our faces to perform any kind of whimsical analysis on quite yet. But let’s just say: it’s been totally fucked up, am I right?
Truly, time and space has not taken the same shape since.
None of these things have been particularly useful in generating energy or inspiration to write. Frankly it’s amazing to still be alive.
In the meantime, that old blog exploded me into becoming a respected writer and editor, I got to play instrumental roles in the meteoric rise of not one but two digital media startups, I ground out some of the hardest corporate and cultural years in our modern media apocalypse at the New York Times, I became wildly successful on paper, and I kinda-sorta became a musician again.
Oh, and (almost) everybody died.
How’s that for cramming 15 years of gore, havoc, chaos, carnage, blood, sweat, and tears into 250 words?
the digital meow 