You know I think of you, your picture on the wall...

I will raise my drink to you . But I'll stay sober just for you. Back for more ravings from the black heart of my soul.  Extra helpings of hyperbolic dressing on the salad today.

The nostalgic wall we now look at to see old friends is now a 24 hour rolling news about your life. 'May you live in interesting times', the blessing/curse is now a desperate yearning to mention something worthy of note on that channel and for it to be instantly acknowledged. With social networking the press is towards the positive. How often do we look at other people's profiles and wonder why they are having all the fun? Take a look at your own pictures and from that it looks like a constant stream of parties, weddings and holidays.  Good for you I guess, good for me.  But I have done nostalgia with this blog.  Time for something else.

What is the price of a Now-wave fading into the nostalgic past?  Whenever you look back into the past on these things you see only the sunshine, only the bittersweet.  The present now seems dull in comparison and anything amazing that does happen now is filtered and converted into a broadcast.

The modern pleasure from party or holiday is relating the party to the world, sneering in the faces of those who aren't present.  The pleasure from a holiday is gained afterward with the relating of the tales, the photos, the memory.  Can we live in the moment?  I'm doing it now, ripping thoughts straight from the tidal bile wave at the tip of my tongue and giving them to you.

I know what you are thinking - catharis.  Not all blogs are happy, not all posts are self-congratulatory.  Sure, maybe there is something in sharing sadness, in sharing pain when genuine.  If anything sharing a problem eases it.  But there is something egotistical about constant feeds of drama, the constant self-pitying slurry of a crushing desire for validation.  Something about it feels cathartic, something within the mind enjoys it because of the rush one gets, the relief of others understanding, of comforting you, of saving you from yourself.  Drink too much, gush feelings onto the broadcast via your phone and by the time you get home half your friends will be sending you *hugs*.  This happens to us all.  But repeating this is an issue, either a serious cry for serious help or a reverse ego.  Stamp victim on your forehead.

I guess that in a time when I should feel more connected I often feel more alone, as if the time when all this social networking was new I was actually doing the deeds worth the telling.  But that must be regular nostalgia.

Then you realise what this post is about is not about the vain, self-pitying drunks but about my own chasm of sadness.  Not about the network but about the people in the network.  I could have summed up this entire vile post with four words.

'I miss you guys.'

'Let's meet up soon.'

'Don't forget about me.'

And delete another full post and replace with some enigmatic reference no one would ever get.  Not even you when you look back and wonder what secret meaning you were trying to convey.

From my holiday cottage beside the Abyss.

R.