Six years ago, a man – who was not a man at this point – thought it a grand idea to document his daily concerns in order to retain them for prosperity and future amusement. This man did not forsee the embarassment that these posts could potentially cause, as at this point in time, for all intents and purposes, the documented thoughts read like a perfectly acceptable account of each day’s events to a 15-year old boy, yet to a grown man they would come across as adolescent outpourings of desperation. He would write about girls he liked and loved; would mention the joy of family holidays abroad, before disappearing on a tangent about said girls once more; would talk about a hysterical budget VHS he had bought from the supermarket that day, only to finish on a sombre note, yet again pondering the possiblity of being with said girls. This venture proved to be melancholic and regretful; a poor judgement, it faded away in the night, much like an unfaithful husband deserts his sleeping wife and child.
Four years ago, The Squid and the Whale was released in cinemas nationwide. Also four years ago, the man who had once created the most shameful of blogs decided that it was once again time to dust off the keyboard and embark on a second stab at chronicling menial accounts of one teenager’s hedonistic existence. This would follow the same general pattern as the blog that had preceeded it, and yet there was a crucial difference. The heart was no longer on the sleeve; the man had withdrawn into himself, and no longer felt comfortable sharing his inner thoughts and processes – much less his feelings – with the outside world. No, this blog would provide an account of ‘enjoyable occasions’ such as parties and nights out, readily available to read for those people who had already experienced these events and as such had no real need to experience them again from an additional perspective that failed to add any weight to the already empty situations. Girl problems, enemy slander and murderous thoughts were not allowed, as these accounts were constantly on show for all to see, at a time long before this man had burned most bridges. It was a time when all friends and acquaintances were present and correct, happy days before the world had suddenly turned from its idyllic childhood playground into an unequivocal landscape of hatred and despair. Happy days before everyone had abandoned everyone else. Happy days when people were together, and conflict was something only those smelly old pensioners had lived through. Those happy days, like the blog itself, were not to last.
With the third blog came a reaction to a new environment. Two years had passed, and the man could safely call himself a man, give or take a few lingering immature compulsions, such as the unfailing ability to giggle like a schoolgirl at the sight of a child running for ice cream and then falling flat on its face. There was much bitterness building inside the man, and the catharsis of the first blog now seemed like a distant memory, one of foolish, trusting oversight. This time, the ‘truth’ of the man would be concealed so far within that the blog ceased to be about the self, and instead formed as a journalistic exercise in dissecting the many disgusting pieces of filth that many know simply as ‘Hollywood films’. On occasion, the man would write about a film that he actually took pleasure in viewing, and yet, this seemed less fun than tearing apart an easy target in the cynical manner of a Jeremy Clarkson column piece. Dry wit and biting cynicism took precdent over honest confessionals. All personal information was discarded, possibly because all manner of what could be perceived as ‘gossip’ had dried up at this point, leaving the man with little else to write about, forcing him to turn his attention away from the cold reality of his own life and instead focus on the artistic output of individuals he would never meet. Interest was lost, both for the writer and the (non-existent) readers.
The present day: The man is lying on a couch with a laptop resting on his knees. The battery has been working all day, enabling the bottom of the machine to act as a microwave that slowly cooks the genitals. La Cienaga is on television, prompting the man to wonder if it was really worth muting such a film in order to make such an inconsequential post on such an inevitably doomed blog. The man shrugs; everything has an end, even ‘Stalkers and DogVillains’ (an inspired name, don’t you think???). For now, the current blog would suffice. The current blog would help the man to flex his writing skills – of what little there remained after years of irresponsible drinking and brain-cell-destroying headbanging – and ultimately provide an outlet for his opinions on one of the most important things in his life: cinema.
The man hereby declares this blog open to the public. May it live long and prosper. And when it dies, may it do so with dignity and grace; unlike the three unendurable journals that preceeded it.