I finished the book the nun gave me and now I’m more confused. The religion must be working its hocus-pocus. One thing I’m compelled to is the notion of silence. I obsessively google things. I love it. Any question on my mind I Google. Fun example- ‘why is my ex bf talking to me’. Best answer (am I fucking turning into a machine?) was ‘he doesn’t miss you, he just lacks some element of his former relationship in his current’. Okay cool. Chill. You’re still broken up. Not today Satan.

True confession- last night when I sat down to do this I Googled ‘how to find a blog topic’. Not helpful, would not recommend. I did decide to deepen my silence and stop Googling like the lost little hitch hiker on the information super highway that I am. New approach let all the information in your head soak in like an expensive facemask. Maybe then I can be fucking quiet.

Google is now a verb. It is something that we can do like sit, eat, think, Google. I can’t remember where I read it (sheer volume of Googling I do) but it was about how as modern day life progressed humanity loses the ability to know. We forfeit meaning and knowledge for information. The thing I read (dear brain, I am sorry for flooding you with benzos, I love you, please bounce back and I promise to not do any drugs that affect my short term memory. Who needs a past anyway?), so the thing I read was about how to know less but to understand what it means is more valuable than accessibility to vast information. I think it was about T.S Eliot (the poet) and his cautionary skepticism to modernism and the industrial revolution. I think. If every French philosopher could work on the meaning of life without the Internet, high on absinth and actually mental from syphilis then all the information is in your head little heroine.

The Google about blog posts red flagged some other shit I’m doing wrong. Chiefly, why would people want to read your blog? Art for Art’s sake. Jesus told me (now, you’re legit concerned for my mental health like religion is so much crazier than my brain chemistry) to live a ‘missioned’ life and to feel fulfilled one must serve others. Essentially do good and use your talents wisely. Then the nun book told me it was selfish to think about yourself and now the catholic guilt is storm warning seven. That is, if writing is supposedly my talent then I need to be channeling it into something productive and not just using it to self indulge in say… relentlessly pulling apart my consciousness until I can reach some kind of understanding free from absinth and syphilis or Google and chain smoking.

The blog serves no purpose than to fulfil my own needs. There are maybe two things here that are worth the time to read- should start new section and filter that out for you (don’t say i never buy you anything nice now). I don’t feel responsible for maintaining your interest by offering you something. There is nothing for me to give you. I have no life advice. Unless it’s prescription meds based. You need to take a lot of pills to die. It is not like the movies and you will wake up in a pool of your own vomit. Sleep on your side. I guess if I were you, I would read me for entertainment, to throw my hands up in the air and be amused at how fucked life is and how it’s actually really not that funny.

Let’s both of us sit here without expectation because Google told me you need to give your audience a call to action at the end of your posts. I don’t want anything from you and you don’t want anything from me so why does the anything exist if it serves no purpose? Pass the fucking absinthe. See! It is counterproductive to obsessively Google. It introduces other people’s opinions in a situation where you need to be responsible for your actions or to work it out yourself. No more religious texts. I have now eliminated all social media and access to Google. This shit is transcendence. I am a digital nun. Called to the order. Pious. No, not really I’m so desperate for silence that i’ve eliminated all the noise by shooting it through the head with a bullet. Bang Bang. I’m an extreme kinda gal.

You know even awful Carrie Bradshaw only had to write her column weekly. Shit is hard.

You know that even all short stories have a moral tale and that if i keep hiding on the internet then I’m actually just avoiding the real work of writing something else because that is fucking hard and not a parlour trick like this. Amazing. Wonderful. I’ll just shift all that self indulgence into writing something that should effectively want to make me kill myself. Uh huh, yes. Don’t do it with pills guyZ.

xx SJ

PS. Editor’s note: When i did the proof read I capitalised Google. Just like I capitalise Lord. A proper noun for a omnipotent idea/force. Proper nouns denote singular identity. See the use of language? how it shapes the concept of the object’s being. How interesting. God vs. Google. I’m a deep grammar nerd. And I think I just became afraid of knowing too much like wow, I’m going to stop picking at the scab like I also just grasped humility that it’s better for me to leave things alone and not know because death was hard and it is something that we can know but not understand and the trick to it all is being chill with not understanding. It’s all semantics and language m8. Did you just see the prison door of my thought jail just fucking unlock? Still need content for tomorrow. Dear Omnipotent force, please send inspiration or more mental breakthroughs.