A recent writing prompt asked the brilliant question, “why do you blog?” the answer was pretty short, to the point. But upon further reflection, here’s the real reason: blogging lets me say the shit I want to say; uninterrupted, unfiltered, uninhibited. While I still have to defend my point of view regarding my thoughts, opinions and musings, there’s autonomy here. It’s freeing. I get to stand on my speaker box, deliver my sermon-the blog is my pulpit. The nice thing about is that if you’re bored, or uninterested, you can disregard, ignore, move right along-and I’ll be none the wiser. Unless of course nasty comments are posted or something, but even then, it’s still easier than say, doing stand up comedy, or performing at the Apollo, publicly bombing in front of a live audience, ya dig? I can ignore nasty comments, but having shit thrown at me on stage, or being heckled-I am not equipped to deal with that.

Not yet.

And on that note, let’s get into it.

Great. Now Netflix is onto me. Sigh. You should see my feed and my “next up for you.” It’s pretty fucking sordid. I’m pretty sure my grandmother, God rest her precious soul is wringing her sanctified hands in heaven, over who I’ve become. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the freak accidents that have been occurring in my home lately, like my missing a step or two coming downstairs the other night, nearly breaking my neck, or my pinkie finger getting stuck in a keyhole, almost ripped from my hand, or the scariest one yet- the wood block I’d stuck between the door jamb of the garage came crashing down inches from my head-was orchestrated by her and the heavenly hosts in collusion with demons. It’s as if they are fighting for my wretched and burning soul…she to save it, and them to feast upon it. (I’ve been binging Good Omens too).

Speaking of omens…

This 57.2 by 32.7 succubus AKA as television is threatening my writing life. You see, I’ve been binging documentaries under the guise of “informed” viewing. I tell myself it’s “research.”

It wasn’t until I recognized that every fucking documentary- Netflix- isn’t the only culprit, Max is guilty. They all sell/tell the same ol’ fucking story and it usually plays out like this:

Some charismatic, often attractive nerd/ genius, or charlatan, comes up with a brilliant way to monetize a taboo or controversial subject or concept, usually sex but it can be anything; drugs, religion, a strange fixation on smelling tuna, whatever. For the purposes of this story, it’s sex: one of the most natural, but tabooed and controversial subjects in the world. Easy to exploit, especially if your unwitting victims have some kind of hang-up over it. These charlatans make a shit ton of money, gathering followers, selling merch, etc.,because they have convinced you that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you-it’s everybody else that’s fucked up. A movement is born. The sheep have found their shepherd. A hierarchy forms.

Sound familiar? Yes. It’s every cult’s origin story. And of course within any good cult, a hierarchy forms. Teacher. Good Shepherd. Disciples. Sheep. Soon the flock begin to realize that they are being bamboozled by the shepherd who seems to be keeping things from them. The disciples are acting funky too-all of a sudden imposing rules, keeping all the good shit (in this case sex, power and money) to themselves and not sharing their provisions with the rest of the flock, who are growing hungrier, and hornier by the minute. And where the hell is the good shepherd in all of this?

Um…voyeurism, much? Ever wish you could conjure up a seismic orgasm? Have a specific sexual taste or desire? Who doesn’t want to experience the kind of ethereal bliss you get from intense sexual pleasure? The type of sex that takes you away from a miserable existence. I wish I had the gall it takes to make people part with their money, to fulfill such an ephemeral desire. If I had that gall I wouldn’t give a shit if you believed what I had to say or not. Either you buy what I’m selling or not. Most people buy it-they need to buy it.

And for about 20 minutes I bought it too.

Most of these documentaries, purporting to offer original, cutting edge or controversy, which, full disclosure I crave, are keeping me from my real work. They are time sucks, which lead me down a bottomless black hole of productivity. Blindly binging series for no other reason than procrastination will be the death of me-and my creative impulses.

Orgasm Inc., isn’t the only culprit. True crime documentaries are a similar evil. Married to evil, Fear Thy Neighbor, etc.,- they all tell the same story. If the love of your life seems to be good to be true one day and the next he’s locking you in a closet for smiling at the dog-that’s a sign you might want to pay attention to. Please don’t misunderstand me here. I’m not saying abuse, murder, exploitation doesn’t happen or that it should be taken lightly. What I am saying is that, we don’t need anymore documentaries exploiting them-because people start tuning out.

If what you are experiencing is too good to be true, it is. If somebody promises you limitless pleasure for a cost, it ain’t limitless. You will have to pay for it. Nobody is orgasming all the damn time and everyone is a pervert in some way shape or form. And, all of these stories turn out the same-death, bankruptcy or jail. Some poor friend, family member sobbing about how they wished they’d known, wish they could have stepped in, or my favorite: I always knew he/she was a…meanwhile, they are all sitting in the comfortable zone of hindsight, in front of a hearth, beautifully made up, ready for their close up.

Spare me.

It’s funny how those who fall into the latter category are the most put together and come across the bitchiest in these docudramas. Perhaps there’s a reason you weren’t taken seriously. Then again, who am I to judge? I suppose we all want/need our 15 minutes…

There’s nothing original to be said-no matter how it’s spun. Nothing new under the sun. See Grandma, I’m not a soulless heathen. That came straight from Ecclesiastes!

Anyway…talk about anti-climatic.

In the meantime, I’m happy to report that all is calm on the home front. There have been no more mysteriously freakish attempts on my life. For now…

But I’ll be sure to keep you posted…