Why?

Why does this blog exist? Paradox wants to test himself, that why.

Always up for a challenge, he has wryly observed rising former sparring partners, college contempories and even (occasional) drinking buddies.

Some write extremely well, others churn out the usual cliched tripe. The latter category often parroting "left must adapt" - vainly blinded to their own pre-historicicity: Maintaining into middle age that mascarade of world weariness thinly veiling their unmatured late adolocescent pseudo ironic sarcastic fossilised philosophy. How can they maintain such unaffected vacuity into middle age? Strange... did they live?

Two noble columnistic giants set the bar very high, one living... one dead. Fine prose indeed!

So, how do they do it? Can one compose a page of interesting prose? A page a day, a generally consumed diary.

Lord Gnome hires Polly Filla. Manchester Graundiad uses her namesake. Others recruit Copian Pastit or play gerismo whilst twiddling thumbs.

Paradox knows no such devices. Promising to think till it hurts here will posit spewed vocab.

Sometimes pure shit, maybe just the once something worth reading. Read on...dear reader, read on.

Paradox is a happy pessimist pondering plying prayful affiliation.

Which religion will he choose? Lets explore this tomorrow.

In the meantime, some homework - Paradox on Jesus (scroll down to see).