Really it was quite mediocre, this post I’ve written. No one will read it, save for the web bots and Internet spiders, who aren’t my target demographic, nor could they understand what a broken computer is, or want to market themselves with a website.
Often the best work isn’t read, nor clicked upon and left for two minutes, to simulate the reading act and fool the analytical giant Google, who does not know that writing is my life, my energy, and my being, and when my words stop coming forth like sweet daggers from my mouth, it will be that day that I pull the wool over my eyes and go to sleep, never to try to stand by myself in the flowing river of commerce that surrounds me.
Care not I for lofty phrases or their misunderstanding by the 12. Isn’t it for them that this last post reverberates? Is not the purpose of posting their understanding, twinged with the possible hope that something better could be gained, attained by free means and willful operation?
If I come out and say the obvious, that This Is The Best Blog Post I’ve Ever Written, then will I be wrong if only 3 people come to this site, only one person purveys the solomn tone with which I now bleed fourth in droves, like torrents of hail on an early summer day, beating my car’s hood and roof like a tack hammer, unceasing, unavoidable, and undenyable.
For that last reader I impart the small truth that my intention is good, my soul is steadfast and steady, in its place of direction, focused upon the improvement of technological situations, or business frustrations, by whomever may need or want my services, affordably rendered and quickly billed. My family thanks you, my daughter can eat tonight, although we’ll still have to plead with her to, beg for her to ingest the holy manna from the cloud, unknowing that this cloud is her creator.
Three fifths of the time, this is a long rant or rave about nothing and everything. The other two, it lacks substance or matter to make men want to call or mail, electronically. But occasionally, that wonderful truth, that stupendous light, comes forth from above through the holy impressions of my neighbor, Mr Boogaloo. If I went off on a lonesome rage, no one would know about it or care, since this, my last will and testament is yet unread by human eyes.
So drink in the good, spit out the bad, but know that the same love and compassion went into every word put down, through this keyboard, through this bluetooth connection, through this forbidden fruit, onto this wireless network (now twice invisible, my message), and through the connected network of servers, routers, and switches that link this backbone of individual souls, bringing them into the newness of hope for a more connected existence, relishing in the fact of the day, wanting not to see the face of God, but the Face of the Book, continuous and multi-headed be its body and dangerous be its fire, spewed fourth from its dark underbelly cavern, full of dark secrets and illusions, that seek to deceive men, and ensnare all those who dare create an account and login to its sticky webs.
But for the righteous, the noble, the client, all answers and knowledge can be given, for on my word, and my sacred honor, I swear to deliver on promises made, in a timely manner, and with as little expense as technically possible. I promise to keep you updated on milestones and progress, as it progresses past milestones, and arrives, finally, at completion. These, and more, can be yours if only asked for.