Thursday, May 20, 2004

This blog: now in it's amazing 17th year!

I hardly know how to begin celebrating the 17th anniversary of the blog that predates the web itself. What can be said that hasn't been said already? And better?

When the archeologists come, in their shiny eco-suits, fresh from a hard and fast round of ‘SupaRazz!’ played in the low-grav pleasure domes of Ganymede, they will pry the keyboard from my cold, dead fingers and know this:

I was a fresh-faced 15-year old, angry at the world and at myself, looking for a way to blow off steam, meet chicks and revolutionise the written word.

I rapidly outgrew poetry (too commercial), the novel (a dead art form) and the sitcom (rarely done well in Australia) but was still too young and full of hope to immerse myself in the unforgiving world of contemporary dance set to spoken word monologues.

I had a message and the world had a need to hear my message. Not next month, not next week, but now! As soon as I’d cashed my grant from the Australia Council, I was ready to be the cruel mistress that the English language was begging me to be.

In that first weekend, I must have used up a hundred pens, like a pimp goes through junkie prostitutes. I ‘posted’ several thousand entries (or ‘posts’) on the ‘cobweb board’ inside the shed, settled down with a hot cup of tea and a Boston bun and waited for the invention of some kind of electro-magnetic interactive hypertext protocol (any one would do).

And that was it! History was made though history didn’t know it at the time. (History is like a very pretty girl at a party – she won’t notice you unless you’re rich, good-looking or take Moscow before the winter).

My mind ranged freely in those early pre-web years (and my actual arrival on the web was delayed for some time because of a rusted lock on the shed door): music (I predicted the rise and rise of Shannon Noll – is he not a terrible strutting god? Where can I get me one of them tiny triangular sub-mouth beards? For they are heavy cool…), film (I authored a peer-reviewed paper that mathematically proves most movies suck the fat one) and the giddy heights to which the human spirit can soar (when it isn’t, you know, being machine-gunned or forced to learn French).

The remainder of this decade will be devoted to a steady unpacking of my thoughts from July-October 1987. If you wish to 'rap' with me about those heady days, send me a friendly pigeon.





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