Where does the time go?
Seven years ago I jumped into this thing called the Blogosphere with a crude little blog which, admittedly, I knew nothing about running. I was flying blind and pretty much found my way in the dark when it came to HTML, search engine optimization and content curation.It was the Wild West. Everyone recorded their every thought and some lucky early adopters were fortunate enough to get noticed and parlay their blogging success into healthy and vibrant writing careers. Oh, to be that lucky.
For the first year on that crapified blog, I drudged along but eventually would feel that the content was lacking. At the time, I aggregated to the the same pop culture and geek news that every one did - and better. I added nothing new and it showed.
Initially, I had a few popular posts namely about Heath Ledger and his leaked shots as The Joker in "The Dark Knight" as well as Robert Downey's first images as Tony Stark in "Iron Man." The Internet and their geeks were abuzz. And I fed into it. Still, though, it didn't feel right.
While the blog was racking up thousands of page views, there was no real return traffic. At the time, I was quietly diving into the works of Charles Bukowski. A longtime fan, I remember that Buk first plopped on my radar when I reviewed the film 'Barfly' in college a million years ago. Mickey Rourke's performance as Hank Chinaski (Buk's fictional alter-ego) was magical and ever since the '80s, I decided to learn more about the guy that created him. It became an awakening period and after seeing the documentary film 'Born into This,' I knew that I found another scribe to be enshrined in my stable of literary kindred spirits. The group included such creative masters as Tom Waits, Rod Serling, Bruce Springsteen, Papa H., Kerouac and, of course, the minimalist master - Raymond Carver.
Ever since my days as a Barnes & Noble stock boy, I was sucked into the world of Ray Carver. Initially, the Vintage book cover for 'Cathedral' lured me into the author's alcoholic world of the men and women that made up the fabric of this country. But the prose kept me there. He said so much with so little. Reading Carver, you felt as if you were eavesdropping on conversations you had no business listening to.
But Bukowski? He was raw and a bit feral. Perhaps it was his mystique. The drunken L.A. scribe; the go fuck yourself poet; It was mesmerizing. He, too, was a bit of a minimalist and the work didn't come off as 'written' but instead real.
So that's what I loved about the concept of blogs circa 2007. You had the chance to be real. Do whatever the hell you wanted. I envisioned blogs of that day as the "little magazines" in which Buk wrote for. Those personal underground publications (like Open City) in which NOTES OF A DIRTY OLD MAN were created. I always said that if Buk were alive and coming up today, he'd have a blog and write the shit out of it. So that's why I wanted to start BUKOWSKI'S BASEMENT and kill that wretched excuse of my first blog where I was writing about such bullshit as Batman and Green Lantern. Wasn't me.
That creative pivot was one of the best decisions that I ever made creatively. I began to post my flash fiction, poems, audio recordings and have met some wonderful people along the way. Bukowski's Basement was personal to me. It was and still is an extension of my creativity and personality. It was something to brag about and show off.
Six years, 582 posts, 2843 comments, 2 books and half a million page views later and I can thankfully say that I feel the same way.
I want to thank everyone who's popped by, read some stories and left a comment or two. It's much appreciated.
Here's to the next half-million...
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