Am I not pretty enough?

Perhaps I lack the cool quotient in sufficient quantities.

I've been looking around blogs, and maybe I need to spice things up a little.

Should I:

a) Insert a random hyphen somewhere, a la www.un-deniable.com, or www.un-likeable.com, or maybe even www.---word--word-hyphen---.com? Will this make my readership increase, exponentially?

b)should I come up with an inspired name? I could call it something like www.indecentindiscretionsofincubus.blogspot.com or something like that! Maybe that'll make me cool.

c) there's always the photo option! I could become one of those photo blogs....problem is, i need faces other than my own in order to prevent a certain blandness from setting in. This would suggest a need for friends.... ah well back to the drawing board

d) A SEX BLOG A SEX BLOG! which, of course, hinges on sensual, sexual, scintillating, stimulating sexy stories, simulated or otherwise. My talent for alliteration alone may not prove to be enough.

e) I could become a fashion critic!



Right.



f) I could...... write about the things I do each day? That seems to get some people off! Problem is, there can only be so many of those types around, and given the number of boring blogs abounding everywhere they must surely now be in rather short supply.


Perhaps I should desist in my attempts to gain popularity, and take heart in the fact that....

in the fact that....


that.....






Gee great weather isn't it!



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I think that somewhere within most people there's a little music box - made of a dark, lovingly polished wood, and elegant in its simplicity - that contains all the cherished ideals, hopes, dreams, wishes and desires that are the sum of everything we desperately want to be true. This little box is rather tightly shut, the more so as we age, in order to preserve the sanctity and purity of the things contained within, but every so often something or someone gives us a strong enough bump that the box's lid falls open, and we see things that at times are hardly even recognisable. As we idly finger through the items of yesteryear - the little fairy ballerina slowly spins in a circle to the tinkling tune all the while - we remember the naivete of our past, and find ourselves wondering how the world we find ourselves in manages to be so vastly different to the one we expected.


My music box is open - stupid as it may seem, i still get shaken when things of seeming certainty turn out to require only the slightest of shoves in the wrong direction. One day i'll grow up, I guess, but even as I say that, I feel sad to think that what I really mean is: one day I'll be truly cynical, hardened and jaded, one day I'll genuinely lose faith, one day I'll stop believing. One day I'll burn the box.


Because, at heart, I don't want to. I want to stay optimistic, and stay sentimental; I want to remain the romantic I am, in all senses of the word; I want to believe that there's something better than the baseness we see all around us; I want to believe in the goodness of things.


It's just hard at times.






Pretty house, within the woods
Adorned with flowers and light.
Seemingly good, and honest and true
Within it nothing is right.