Hello Internet. This is the first post on my new blog. I would say it’s my first blog, but that’s not quite true. I am a Tumblr veteran, and I made my fair share of WordPress vent blogs that were quickly abandoned once that particular argument with my parents (of which there were many) blew over.
I return to blogging at a strange point in history. I read somewhere that 70% of Cloudfare traffic these days is AI bots. Indeed, when I post my writing or photos or random thoughts on social media, my comments are often flooded with AI spam. Even as I opened the page to write this post, I saw the WordPress AI had generated an overview for my first post: none of them my words. How many hundreds of posts and articles do we read a day, straight from the electronic mouth of Chatgpt or Deepseek?
So this blog is a little rebellion. In truth, I don’t think AI is wholly evil: I do sometimes find it a useful tool when I am stuck in decision paralysis and need a task broken down to the bare bones. I am guilty of occasionally talking to it like a close friend, when I have a complex issue that I feel would be too abruptly ripped to sheds by contrarian Redditors. But I like writing – I studied it at university, for god’s sake! – I should be able to write an article or two without needing a bot to do it.
Life has been rough recently. Fascism is on the rise worldwide. Dolly Parton, Tim Curry and Sam Neill all died this year. I lost my job after being bullied and discriminated against at work. I was then at risk of losing my home. My back pain continues to get worse, and I’ve been told by pencil-pushers at the DWP I am not disabled enough for support. Oh, and I can’t get a job.
This blog will aim to document this tumultuous time in my life, and the previous storms I’ve weathered. Hi, mum and dad if you are reading! Your unpredictable outbursts and emotional immaturity have taught me a lot about life, and also largely ruined my future, so thanks for that. I’m sure that will be shared here, too, in time.
I am also somewhat of a writer. I write fanfiction – which will absolutely not see the light of day here – and sometimes my own fiction and non-fiction, though that inspiration is a lot slower and more tedious in its process. It turns out harrowing accounts of childhood abuse aren’t as compelling as two hot, jacked guys jerking each other off. Honestly, I get it.
I am currently reading Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, because I am a masochist, as well as being deeply lost in life. I am hoping that through radical acceptance, and the acceptance and documentation of my suffering, I can find meaning and help others. Obviously, I was never anywhere near a concentration camp, and I am not in any way trying to claim my comparatively trivial grievances warrant any particular form of pity or sympathy. I want to share my stories – the real, the unreal, evil step-mum’s and aliens and the occasional scathing British political take – because it might help someone a bit worse off, or at least entertain them for a little while.
(A job and residuals would be nice too, but I’m not holding my breath).
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