Dear John,

I made the mistake of taking a look at the TryThought web stats which seemed to peak during my countdown to Armageddon in April of this year. Since then, readership has dropped off and flat-lined. I blame you, the deadbeat readers who are pretty much benefiting from free entertainment but have failed miserably in spreading the word.

Okay…that’s not completely true, I suppose. First of all, the shit I write about is probably edgy enough where one might think twice before recommending it; I’m certainly not oblivious to that complication. Second, there’s a lot of stuff I can do from a web development perspective to promote the site by making better use of various blog features and widgets that help catch the attention of search engines, social networks, etc. to actively link in to the skeptic community. Quite frankly, however, I’m very lazy. While I actually really enjoy just writing shit…I guess the whole campaigning strategey one must engage to truly expand in cyberspace really doesn’t really get me too worked up.

I suppose, when it comes down to it, I kind of bought into the whole fantasy of “If you write it, they will read.” (And there’s another reason to hate that fucking movie, Shipman…it’s religion, man. Field of Dreams my ass.) Anyway, to make a long posting short, I’ve decided to close this little shop of bullshit for the winter and see if I can finish the book I’ve been procrastinating for far too long. If I’m going to surrender to the notion that this is all just mental masturbation anyway; I might as well start chipping away at some of the ideas that have been threatening to abandon my ability to remember them.

So…adios amigos. I hope you got something out of the 380-some posts I’ve crapped out over the past year-and-a-half (other than the amusing thought of “That dude is seriously messed up.”)

Perhaps I’ll miss this intellectual exhibitionism and return to it at some point, but I’ve got some real art to attend to first. (I’ve toyed with the idea of a blog where I write a poem every day for a year…we’ll see…) I suppose I imagined something more of a dialog in this endeavor…that never really panned out. The only dialog that seemed to get rolling was with one who was so diametrically opposed to the blog’s perspective that several folks accused me of manufacturing her as a ‘Poe.’

Anyway, thanks for reading. I would guess many will be secretly relieved from the chore of having to read the large volumes of tripe I’ve been spewing out for some time now. (Hey, my pleasure.)  If and when I come back online, I imagine I will upgrade the format and spend the time to employ the technology properly (did I mention the whole Field of Dreams shtick was bullshit? You can shove that movie up your ass) and do some of that unpleasant interaction with other humans to broaden my readership.

If the idea of not having my bullshit to entertain you 2 out of every 3 days tears you up too much, might I suggest going back and re-reading some of the archived posts? (There is some good shit there if I do say so myself.)

Let me close with this.

The critically acclaimed poet, Langston Hughes, wrote the following poem:

April Rain

Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.

I wrote this one, which, though I have yet to find a person who does not like it, has been rejected by so many poetry publishers that it would make your head spin.


My heart beats to the sound of pouring rain
The precious nectar of the sky
That cools and sooths my pain,
Relieving all inside me drained and dry.
A channel spreading life about
And carrying away
Debris and famine, ending drought,
While cleansing filth and purging soul’s decay.
I long to hear this rain,
To feel it fall upon my face,
To watch my shirt flecked with its fleeting stain,
To know its cool embrace,
To soak my hair
Embellishing my solitary stroll,
To wash despair
From deep within my soul.
I long to smell the rain’s deep pavement kiss,
Its tapping on a skylight overhead,
Or while I reminisce
Beneath a broad umbrella, spread,
While watching drips that dive
From canvas in collected streams–
These droplets loyally revive
My spirit’s breath with floods of dreams
And bring that day that passed so long ago
Into my lonely mind;
The images that only I can know,
The memories entwined
With who I am
And who I’ll always be,
And never shall I give a damn
Of what such recollections say of me.
That day is mine to cherish how I choose
I earned it through my sacrifice
Aware of what I’d lose
Consenting full to sorrow’s price.
In bed, in half a slumber, hear the rain
That dances on the roof,
And echoes on the window pane,
As distant as my youth,
Yet draws that distance near;
It draws that day right to the brink,
Just shy of now and here.
I lie so still, afraid to blink;
I must become the rain to lure
That scene from out my depths,
And carefully so to ensure
Success, I breathe with shallow breaths.
And then it comes—it always seems to come
Like colors when the rain meets light
Like colors of the sun
When day meets night.
It brings her a yesterday close,
As fresh as a memory’s verge.
Such feelings never fail to curl my toes
When with my mind they merge.
So when the weather’s fine I’ll weep
But in the rain—rejoice!
Awaken from that zombie sleep
And in those showers, hear her whispered voice.
And squinting, see her smiling face
Through drizzle, just a blur,
And longing for one last embrace,
She vanishes just as I reach for her.
I wonder if she ever feels as much;
Perhaps that instant, from her world she’s free;
Perhaps she stops and feels my phantom touch;
Perhaps it wakes her as the rain wakes me.

– (c) 2009   Jon Krutulis

If you build it, they will come? Fuck you, Shoeless Joe Jackson.



3 Comments to “Dear John,”

  1. Sharik 14 November 2011 at 10:28 pm #

    I’m sad that you are taking a break! Love the poem!

  2. joek(the elder) 14 November 2011 at 11:31 pm #

    Jon, believe it or not I will miss your blog. I read most of your stuff and commented once in a while, but I felt inadequate in knowledge, verbal skills, and typing ability to provide the dialogue you hoped for. I’m sorry about that. Besides, you wrote faster than I could read.

    If it is any consolation, your blog made me think -a lot. Also, I always admired your research, depth and breadth of knowledge, and ability to express your thoughts in words.
    Thank you for the knowledge and thoughts you gave me in those 380 posts (was it that many, really?).

    Good luck on your stories. I’m anxious to read them too.

    The poem a day— some will love them, but I worry I’ll need help to understand and appreciate the beauty of your words and thoughts.

    Good luck with your new venture.

  3. geogiraffe 4 December 2011 at 7:21 pm #

    Too bad. I guess I can catch up on all your old posts now.

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