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I hate this blog

September 27, 2013

Dear Paris

I hate this blog. I hate writing it. I hate not-writing it. I hate that it is another thing on my to-do list. I hate that people tell me "I read your blog, It’s great." It makes it seem like I only do this blog to get compliments (Why else would I be doing it ?) I hate reading it. I sound either preachy or cynical. Both tones depress me. Most of all, I hate that it is a blog. I don’t read blogs (is that horrible thing to say ?).

I don’t mean I have never read a blog. I occasionally check out a literary review or a comedic posting and I think to myself : "Wow he/she is really funny and smart." (I only read blogs by hermaphrodites). But mostly I don’t have time to read blogs. I would rather do something else with my time (stare at my pores, watch French Erotic Thrillers, sleep). After all, blogs seem so self-promoting-which is such a sad and obvious thing to be (and necessary too ?).

That is perhaps why I find my own blog writing to be an onanistic (nice word for masturbatory) endeavor. I would kick a poet in the teeth if she/he never read anyone else’s poems. How selfish ! How Horrible !

Actually the real problem would be that not reading poetry would result in bad poetry 99% of the time.

Is the same true with blogs ?

Still, I think that my inner critic (who is an asshole) has gotten the better of me in my own blogging. I have ten or fifteen blogs that I half wrote and then discarded because I thought they seemed awful and lame. They might be both. I only started writing this blog because I thought I could justify it with the excuse that Helene had asked me to do it. But really, I just wanted the attention. I just wanted an excuse to have to write every week. (Why did I need an excuse ?) Then I made it into a rule-something I had to do. Then I hated it. Then I hated blogs in general. Really, none of these things matter enough to hate,

I remember a few of the blogs, especially the one about the Italian girl I dated, did make me feel better. Being in New York and poor and not-in-Paris and unsure if what to do was depressing. Most of the time, when I actually sat down and did it, this writing this blog made me feel better. Which is, I guess, pretty onanistic.

LOVE

Georgina

Georgina Emerson


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Poésie

A

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par Istina

L’Art est mort
par Ypnova

Aubade en Balade
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B

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C

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D

Dans tes crevasses
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G

Un grain
par Sebseb

H

Higher than a high wire walker
par David Barnes

I

If God has just unplugged the sun
par David Barnes

K

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par Wonderjenn

M

"Man in Forest"
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"My baby is drawn in the dark"
par Georgina Emerson

P

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par David Goudreault

La page blanche
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Pierrot
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R

Rebut
par HL Cellier

Renaud Futur
par Piéton

S

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Sans titre
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Sans titre
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Sans scrupules...
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Sans titre
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Sans titre
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Se laisser vivre
par Istina

Sans titre
par JaAfari

U

Untitled
par Georgina Emerson

Untitled
par Alex Joslyn

La révolte de l’homme
par Lokomotive


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