The Psychotic Psychoanalysis

It's with a sense of deep sheepishness that I type these words, as the disturbing thought that this post comes more than 15 months after its immediate (and, even more sheepishly, the only) predecessor gnaws irritatingly at some hitherto unknown region of my subconscious. Now, one of the main reasons behind this creatively deplorable state of affairs could be a general laziness that prevents me from challenging my grey cells even to the extent of coming up with something halfway decent to put down in a blog......or more interestingly it could be a fashionable case of writer's block, which would of course imply that I'm something of a writer in the first place.

Something nasty tells me that only a remarkable degree of conceit would be able to hold up a valid case for the latter.

Damn these internal voices from beyond the comprehensible (for lack of a proper term).

Okay....so now I think I have a subject to mull over here.....which is the absence of a subject to mull over so far. See…when I started this blog (in all respectful sheepishness, I know "started" is a very debatable term to use here), one of the main things I had in mind was that there should at least be a general theme to it, if not something particular to discuss. Now that this blog can safely dispose of the "something particular" after more than a year in the wilderness, it's time to think about the need for a theme. A driving aspect. And the best way to start that is with a bulleted list analyzing the various possible reasons behind the general creative dearth so far (for anyone puzzled by the sudden need for a bulleted list...I just noticed the feature in the toolbar and thought it would be nice and sophisticated to use it).

So here are some randomly listed subconscious thought processes/causes/reasons I could think of off the top of my head:

• "There is no need for a theme.....blogs are random, unorganized, and practically useless (except for pandering to the writer's own ego) bilge by nature."
• "I don't really have as many thoughts as I thought I had when I started this thing."
• "What do I write about? My life sucks. Nothing remotely interesting ever happens. I mean, there's only so many times that you could possibly write over how all the birds in the world are involved in a shit-dropping conspiracy targeted against you. And no one believes me anyways."
• "A blog's just not good enough for me. I'm meant for higher things. I can't waste my time on such trivial matters."
• "I need something dramatic and impressive to start writing about. What's the point of spewing out any general crap rotting inside your head? Better let it fester there."
• “Such pain should not be inflicted upon the world, however remote the chances of anyone coming across it might be.”
• "Someone I know might chance upon this blog .....and then ring up the nearest asylum."
• "The blog will become wildly popular on the web and I'll end up with a seven figure book deal from a leading publishing firm. The resultant bestseller will outstrip the sales of all the Harry Potter books put together. Next would be a movie adaptation, with Johnny Depp in the lead part, that'll break the opening weekend record in 126 countries. As a result of all this, I'll become so famous and popular that they'll even start selling lingerie with my face sporting a sly smile on the cover. But being an incorrigible recluse by nature, I'll buy a multi-million dollar chalet in a remote area of England's Lake District where only attractive leggy brunettes and hot blondes are allowed to enter the grounds without a pack of bloodhounds set after them. Of course all of these women will turn out to be gold-diggers and I'll basically end up a tired and irritated old man all alone in the woods (except for some owls that occasionally stop by to hoot in solidarity). And I'll go hunting one day and never be seen again. After some years have passed by, legend will have it that I either faked my own death in order to adopt a beaver-like lifestyle for the rest of my life, or that I was engaged in deep thought in some deep part of the forest when the one answer to everything in life just hit me, and I was excitedly making my way back to announce it to the world when I tripped because of my oversize pants and twisted my neck in ten different places during the resultant fall, obviously dying a very painful and gruesome (and some might say a very well deserved) death. My body of course would never be found, thereby saving the usurpers of my estate the pain of holding an ill-attended funeral.

There.....all the probable reasons (however remote) listed out. I guess the more complex job of analyzing them spills over to the next post, lazy as I am. Mindlessness beckons. It’s been some time since I stared into empty space without a good, solid reason. Hopefully I'll write again and not turn this blog into some kind of metaphor for inertia.