hopping through blogistan

Ya know, I am feeling better, but my days and nights are all turned around again. I have been on some blog hopping expeditions lately, looking for people who might give a shit about something, say, Zen... or literary... or equestrian... or conservationist. The trick is: everybody has a fixed set in their blogroll. There is always a weirdo or two. Usually relatives or school chums who need linkage... for some mystifying reason. You can spot them really easily, these sets being as rigid and uniform as they are. These sore thumb links take you to pages with blogrolls a thousand miles long... full of their sets. Set after set after set after set. Everyone trying hard to show where they belong.

I’ve homed in on this ridiculous set of “green poet Zen” impostors, and the heaviness in my breast bids me shake them off and go away. But I can’t help but note how stupid they all seem, look, sound to me, when it’s in stone that they think they’re hot shit. Literate! Shitchya! No typos! What a relief. All vying for the ultimate in artily arranged words and pictures and shallow concepts. I guess the “Zen” patina is the most tiresome for me.

Does a dog have buddha nature?

No!

And either there are an amazing number of these people all living in pastoral edens with no visible means of support -- that’s my scene! -- or they’re making it up. So I have learned that there is this new subset. Not bliss ninnies. Just ninnies with degrees and wearing “Zen” like designer jeans.

I have learned that it is possible to fill your blog with excruciatingly artful ads so as not to break the mood of your page. I should go around and announce that it’s now possible to get ad money without turning your page into Times Square. You don’t have to be Walmart anymore. You can be Saks Fifth Avenue. If, that is, filthy lucre is your bag.

I have learned there are people who really don’t mind that it takes fifteen minutes for all their gizmos to load. One woman had an inconceivably long and comprehensive collection of ratings widgets on her sidebar. I could have spent a month signing on to all those services to approve of the fifteen-minute wait to load her page full of... well... what? Big cleansing breath. Ratings widgets. Another made a big hairy point of warning that all the images on her page were hers and keep yer mitts off ‘em... but a little snooping showed that... yes... probably none of them are hers. Dazzling. Just dazzling. No?

Humans are so everlastingly silly imbecilic stupid.

Just drop it and, poof, infinities of profundities... but no.