Blogging Agitates Psyche

The fragile psyche of a local blogger has been shattered as various aspects of his psychology quibble over what has been dubbed the 'Blogger's Dilemma'; a conflict between the frequency and quality of blog posts complicated by the lack of editing and motivation.

The Freudian psychological aspect of the Super-Ego was first to weigh in, preaching to the mind about how "This was just a really bad idea. You should never do it again. You must leave your blog to decompose on the internet."

"Just hide it behind the pictures of funny cats and no-one will ever notice" the possibly non-existent facet of the human conciousness added, revealing its incomprehension of the mechanics of the internet.

The Ego, a qualified psychological analyst and mediator, dejected described the Super-Ego as being "typically impossible" as it "maintains its track record as being the habitual 'brick wall'" that blocks any true progress.

Instead the mediating component of the incomprehensible human mind proposed some form of regular schedule which could be followed in order to maintain productive creative output. In response, the cognitive aspect formed from society's overriding pressures to conform, viciously denied the efficacy of any such plan describing it as "a gross overestimation" of the individual's capabilities to string together a group of words into sentences or "those vile attempts at poetry".

In both their statements the Super-Ego and Ego alike overlooked the oft outspoken Id. When questioned the Ego slandered the animal part of the psyche as being "an incomprehensible little shit that thinks only about two things" and questioning why it even attempts to attain compromises between the Id and Super-Ego.

The Super-Ego stated that it wasn't in talks with the Id because it [the Super-Ego] "never talks to anyone" saying that it was "breaking [its] major rule" in talking to your reporter revealing that it "only deals in constantly yammering 'No'" and only made an exception as a plot device.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" it added

Righting the journalistic balance comes the statement from the Id. In an uncharacteristic moment of lucidity it began "Well I believe that blogging truly is part of the new media and that consequently..." but then the refined eloquence quickly disappeared.

"IhavelookedintothevoidandIhaveseentheendofallthingswhichliveandmustdie. Yourblogreadersdontcount.Theywilldie.Whydontyoukillthem?Fightsociety. Kill. Walknakedandfuckinthestreets." it disturbingly continued.

Another 3 hours of insane and unsettling monologue this reporter understood the reluctance of the Super-Ego and Ego to enter negotiations with the animalistic drives of humanity.

Despite the three competing views, ultimately their interface that lies upon the individual's self-concept will demonstrate the ultimate result. Though in this reporter's opinion it will take time for any form of expression to occur.

Ode to University

My face feels awfully heavy
And a heavy feeling is awfully unattractive
I hope that no one can see it
Or else they may become worried
That the candle in my head
Is melting my waxy visage
And that my skull
And eyes
And brain
Will somehow become visible
Which is quite revolting
Much more so than a simple sag
But even the most revolting thing has to start somewhere
It has to work its way up from the bottom of the revoltingness scale

I wonder why I have a slight sag
I think it may be the weight of idiocy
Maybe my face stores it
In times of need
(Like a squirrel)
For when I need a little laugh
“Cyclists are similar to the Klu Klux Klan” (for example)

If so
My mechanism is faulty
And instead it stores the unfunny things
Which only shit me
Now I remember my peers’ lack of motivation
As well omnipresent didacticism
Not to mention the uninformed opinions…
Why has no one done anything?
“Who has read the text?”
I raise my hand;
Nearly alone
“What do you think about this?”
I talk
Only to be rebuked by my ‘superiors’
My opinion torn down

Speak! You fuckers!

Someone speaks
Playing their one incomplete piece of knowledge
Acting the professional
“It’s all about…”
I know what it’s about!
I want to immerse myself in ‘it’
But you haul me back to the simple surface
Now I find it incredibly hard to purge such thoughts
They seem to be accumulating, as I have said,
In my face-sag (or sag-face)
Maybe they’ll eventually become so heavy
That I’ll have to fashion a cart upon which
To carry my head
To be honest,
I’d rather that my face melted off

Dismantled Green

I got a salad
It is deconstructed
(A condition of which I was unaware when commanding its appearance)
Its vegetables segregated
Isolated by a desert of porcelain
What vegetative politics enforced this racist state?
Or was it divine intention that the greens (and reds) should be unable to create their own Babel?
To overthrow the chef god

Maybe it was structurally unsound
Lacking integrity and cohesion
And consequently had to be demolished
The materials recycled into new and better things
Or just kept broken apart
And fed to wankers who think empty space is a commodity

The cosmopolitan society that I yearned to devour
Was not in existence
Only
                        An
Incongruous
                                                            Arrangement
            Of                                                                                leaves
                                    And                  beans
                                                                                                Tomato
                        With some
           

                                                Cheese
And                  dressing
Which
Didn’t
Even
Cover
The
Entire
Dish

I’d give it back
But I’m best equipped to calm
The lonely crying vegetables