the first edition: dated 02.08.25

The Weekly Blabbette

I am not getting any younger. Granted, getting older is something to celebrate—nearing a quarter of a century in the Victorian era meant you were halfway to death, or something, what am I to know?

In brainstorming for what this would be, I realised I was three steps from creating a simple newsletter, something I would shove into the digital mailbox of the three people who sign up for it, and have only one of them read it. Instead of wasting a digital postperson’s time, everything will be reined in here, on a previously unnamed page of my website. Unfiltered, or filtered enough to be tolerable, I’ll talk about my week, talk about things I am far from educated to talk about as a creative writer who is about to be unemployed, maybe even review some music suggested by you. We’ll take letters from “the public”, understand what has me in lock recently from something I watched—Melissa on Dance Moms is threatening legal action because people are asking her about her engagement??—and misunderstand the world around us. Peer inside my brain, because somehow I believe not enough people do.

I have always thought about keeping a diary, but I hate having to bother about it every single day and see very little purpose in something that sits on my bedside table gathering dust. With this thing, people can choose whether to judge me for my ramblings on topics like ChatGPT and which dictator in history is my favourite. The latter of which I have no current answer because I am head-empty on dictators other than the main “popular” ones, and choosing one of them seems far too generic. For all intents and purposes, I do not support dictators, but as an unserious person with no impact on government and leadership, I want to give the people what they want.

This will be our little experiment, then. A smashed burger of whatever content I deem appropriate, a newsletter of my being, without the pictures of my face or the acknowledgement that I am one foot in the grave, not for my age but for the simple fact I am nihilistic and make far too many inappropriate jokes about dying.

Keeley Talks About The Types of Things He Has No Business Talking About

or Keeley Talks, for short

wherein I respond to something haunting my thoughts during the week, without doing a drop of research, and pretend anyone cares about what I have to say about it.

Monday 28th of July: Banning YouTube for anyone under sixteen.

I was reading a snippet on the cover of a newspaper today about how a father was calling for YouTube to be banned for under sixteen-year-olds because his son used the platform to watch videos on how to kill himself, essentially. I’m a big believer in watching the user of technology, not just the technology itself—after all, technology is built by us. Hearing something like that is depressing as hell, but it makes me wonder whether banning something is the solution. What was this kid’s support system like? If he saw suicide as his solution, is restricting more and more of the world the solution?

The issue I see with our world is that technology is unavoidable for how we operate on a day-to-day basis, but human beings are naturally cruel and unrelenting. Technology is going to make these voice dominating, and bullying will hurt the teenagers who are still understanding their complicated emotions. Certainly having videos on YouTube that can assist a teenager in killing himself aren’t helping the situation, but think of everything they lose by not having access to the platform ordinarily. They lose the potential communities they can find through watching videos about things they love, they lose potential access to free therapy for their thoughts, they lose dumb Roblox videos where celebrities they love run around playing Dress to Impress for themes like “Fart”. Restricting access to something like YouTube only makes it more exciting and compelling to a teenager, and maybe we nip some bullying in the bud, but human beings bully. We’re a cruel, mean-spirited species, and we make each other want to kill ourselves. Suicide is awful, but it is a sure sign that the person who is no longer with us did not have the support system around them to persevere. Teenagers don’t need a video-sharing platform to find out how to kill themselves, they will go jump off a bridge like the good old days if they need to.

This world is becoming more and more difficult to live in.

Censoring communities is probably nothing more than a Band-Aid.

Tuesday 29th of July: Posting AI or “cartoon” versions of yourself.

First of all, I know you didn’t draw that picture of yourself.

This trend of sharing a picture of yourself that was edited instantaneously by AI or a filter makes me feel sick in the stomach, primarily because it’s an inauthentic version of yourself. Openly, I’ll admit to using filters on my pictures when the lighting is awful or I look like a deathly pale child, but there’s a difference between changing the colouring of a picture and making yourself look like a 1920s gangster with the tap of a button. AI shifts, moulds, alters—your face does not look like that, Larry! AI removes your body fat, your pimples, your imperfect shave, and also damages the environment every time you use it. Everyone’s self-esteem is low—making your profile picture AI is basically a call to say you hate how your face looks. It’s depressing. Maybe my skin looks a little less pale in a picture, but at least it doesn’t look like it was drawn by hand by an artist with a generic style.

What’s wrong with how you look?

Why do you think people will care what AI thinks you could look like?

We want to be idealised versions of ourselves. We don’t want to be bullied for looking a certain way, or not being the standard of beauty. But when I see the same person repeatedly sharing a “cartoon” version of themselves to social media I think, what are we accomplishing here? That’s not you. Not even close. You’re not fixing the lighting; you’re erasing the fact you’re human completely. At least pay a real artist for that.

Wednesday 30th of July: ChatGPT for assignments.

Should we realistically be giving university degrees or certificates of education to people who capitalise off of using AI to write their assessments for them? Back on my AI hate train for another paragraph, I remember someone recently telling me they don’t take notes because they ask ChatGPT to complete all their assessments for them. I wish I could have wrung their neck. It’s miserable to think of the wasted time a teacher puts into class if their students are just turning to a program for all the effort. Just drop out. Do it already. You’re not committed to actually studying, or actually learning. You just want to pass the class, get the certificate, and flash that around for a job where you will further use AI to do everything for you. Never has the future in WALL-E seemed more accurate. We are getting lazier and lazier. Sure, use a robot to vacuum the floor, I do not care, it’s efficient, but when tasked with writing an essay about an intellectual thought like what is represented within F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, put some fucking effort in. Or else go work at McDonalds for the rest of your life.

Thursday 31st of July: Going back to your shitty ex.

If you are reading this and thinking about giving someone who fucked you over completely a second, or third, or fifth chance, just cut that out. There are reasons to give people another try—life is short, and death is inevitable, so forgive the little mistakes and know that someone in your life has the potential to change. But not the asshole who completely ruined your happiness, spat in your face, smooshed you into the dirt, and walked out without an otherwise thought. Not the person who couldn’t care less about your feelings. That person will break your heart again. When you see your friends go through with decisions like these, to forgive and try again with someone like that, you want to read them the classics—namely I told you so. You ought to. There are so many human beings on this planet, and that asshole broke your glasses and flushed your head in the toilet. It can become difficult to wonder whether they do deserve better—their decision-making is only human, but it reminds you of the times you thought yourself undeserving of better because you knew you should face your own consequences in the moment.

I was hurt in the past, trust shattered completely, but I had an open and honest conversation with the guy after a long time of avoiding him. Mind you we never dated, but I think often about whether having him back in my life is right, or good, or actually helping me emotionally. The idea of spending time with him again draws red flags, but I still consider it because the pain continues to minimise. Maybe that’s what it is like to want to go back to an ex who wronged you. Over time, the pain heals, and you think your heart can handle being vulnerable around them again.

When you get knifed in the back again, you shouldn’t be so surprised, and yet.

It’s good to be forgiving, but it’s tough too. Better the devil you know, right?

Friday 1st of August: Having no energy.

Now for something I truly can talk about: As someone with chronic pain, not having energy is exhausting. I am exhausted today, but surprisingly it didn’t mean staying on the couch all day watching tv like the original plan began. I have been sitting in front of my computer structuring this out in bursts of energy that come from being creative. But overall, I am tired and now I feel the effects of it.

Here is hoping the decisions I made and the ideas of the future can benefit me. As of Monday, I’ll be unemployed and saying goodbye to the job I had for far too long. No looking back. After an appointment with a neurologist, I was prescribed with an injection that is supposed to be efficient for many sufferers of long-term headaches, migraines, etc. I hardly have the energy to message someone who would be curious about the results of that appointment, because I am tired, and sometimes I just cannot summon the energy to respond to people. I am sleepy. The injections are once a month and there is no certainty they will impact me positively—but I want a miracle. I want energy, a clearer mind, less pain, less ideations of what pain-free could look like. After waiting something like eight months for the appointment with the neurologist, there’s a strange feeling after the incredibly short appointment. Is this my solution, or another roadblock? I can only hope for more energy.

Once I turn off my computer and go rest, relax, chill, there will be no need for energy for the rest of the evening. One can hope. My life on the surface seems uneventful, or more accurately, less chaotic than those who work five days a week. It is full of events, big and small, some chaotic, but it is the sort of life I can stomach while the ache of my head continues to pulse. Now I will be facing new hurdles, but that is a conversation for after I spend almost a month traipsing around Europe trying to get a semblance of lust for life back. Give me the energy to do everything I dream of there.

Saturday 2nd of August: Taking a mental health day and going to see theatre.

The headline seems a little specific, but I am responding to something that has been drawing controversy. Todrick Hall stepped away from his show, Burlesque: the Musical, for a mental health day and consequently went to see Rachel Zegler belt the hell out of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” in Evita. People were up in arms about the idea of a professional calling in mentally sick to go watch something else—but why is our idea of mental health restrained to being on the couch, moping, or otherwise sleeping the day away like the therapist apparently ordered. I would love nothing more than to call in for a mental health day and actively want to go outside, but the last time I took time off for my sick little brain I hardly moved from the couch, miserably exhausted and hating myself.

I have not been Todrick Hall’s biggest fan as of late—once upon a time I loved his videos, listened to a lot of his music, and generally appreciated his artistry, but over time I moved away from appreciating him to finding him grating and obnoxiously self-conceited. However, this does not extend to expecting mental health to be taken seriously. Burlesque: the Musical has been under fire recently from critics who dislike the show, or more aptly absolutely hate it, and as someone with a major creative stake in the production, this would weigh on Todrick. Theatre is a job as much as anything else—there is no absolute expectation you need to be there for every single performance, so much as other employees of other jobs have sick days and leaves of absence built into their contract. Sure, you expect to see him because you are paying money for a performance, but ultimately he is a human being, whether I like him or not. There should not be an expectation that a human being cannot take time for themselves. Whether it be to mope on the couch, or go see an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. Mental health days are an important factor in allowing people to escape burnout, to process their emotions comfortably, and frankly, if you’re going to be pissed he went to see a musical instead of performing in one, you can go home and pout.

I can’t believe I’m defending Todrick Hall. In truth, I’m not—I don’t him, I don’t know his exact intentions. But I do know work is exhausting and a mental health day does not need to look like every tragic montage of a person crying. Sometimes your mental health deserves Rachel Zegler.

Do I have business talking? It's all subjective. See you next time for more unfiltered opinions on the world around me.

Letters from Friends

wherein I respond to the topics submitted to me by the people of the neighbourhood. [the people mentioned in these letters are entirely fictional]

Hello, this is Margie from Norbaker. I was out walking my dog in the neighbourhood this afternoon, the leaves falling to the ground, and I thought to myself, I wonder what you think of shrinkflation?

The unfortunate reality of the standard of living going up is that everything costs more money. The bar of chocolate in the supermarket, the cost to create the bar of the chocolate, the cost to farm the cocoa, the cost of global warming and climate change affecting the seasons. Higher standard of living means more people alive means more chocolate being bought means more demand means they cut corners by shrinking the bar of chocolate BUT charge more for it because there is more competition for cocoa, for milk, for machinery, for whatever. Shrinkflation naturally sucks—why am I paying more for less? Blocks of land are shrinking, but the cost to build a house is ever rising. It all resides in demand. Everyone wants to live, as expected, and now they can—except they’re competing with everyone else. Trying to find a solution is out of the scope of the corporations who want only a profit—and it doesn’t help that every company feels determined to create new, exciting off-shoots to entice the consumer to spend more and more. For something as small as a bar of chocolate, they could cut back on different new variations that remain on the shelves for eternity, but how do you fix the constant demand for new housing that becomes smaller and smaller, with no room for a house to expand? We’ll be living on top of each other soon enough, and it will cost $2 million.

Hi there, my name is Jason and I only recently moved to Winterheat. The moving process was rather exhausting, carrying all of those boxes myself from the car up the steep hill into the two-storey place. The thing that kept me going was thinking about a local theatre production I plan on seeing. It will be my first time going.

Are you wondering what a local theatre production will be like? Always lower your expectations. Perhaps you will be pleasantly surprised, but take into consideration the stripped back sets, the costuming that could be found locally, the eighteen-year-old boy in the wings manning the curtain rope. I love local theatre for what it offers—it’s an affordable way to experience theatre, local performers can get their start in the industry, and shows like Next to Normal which aren’t coming around in the national productions get a platform. I’ve seen five or so high school productions and countless regional theatre productions without the budget of something that would be put on in a major city on the bigger stages. They are gateways, even if the quality is lower because they can’t afford the grandiose. Without community theatre I wouldn’t have fallen in love with Next to Normal, wouldn’t have seen Heathers the Musical, wouldn’t have the plastic fork I keep from The Little Mermaid, because for whatever reason they gave out plastic forks to everyone seeing the show as a dinglehopper memento. Yes, it can be underproduced, but theatre is theatre is theatre. It’s a love of music and performance and artistry. You should count yourself lucky you get to experience it, Jason, absolutely, because art is a need and a must in every form. I still remember the beautiful voice of an Elphaba from a Wicked community production I saw many years ago.

Go see more community theatre, even if it hurts your senses. Experience theatre, even when you think a role is miscast or a set is underwhelming. There’s a good chance you’re just being harsh on something baked with love and passion.

Bonjour! I am Jean-Paul and I am, erm, learning the English language and was not understanding, how do you say, my internalised homophobia? An Australian friend of mine has introduced me to the concept and I am seeking your guidance on what it means.

Hi Jean-Paul, I hope learning this horrific, difficult language is going well for you. Grappling with one’s internalised homophobia is complicated. I think, growing up queer but in a world that expected queer people to be quieter, to be more reserved and hidden, I was conditioned to an extent to feel threatened by outward examples of queerdom. I like to believe I have outgrown any internalised homophobia, but I remember when I was younger feeling put-off by people who could express their sexuality confidently when I could not. Society is regressing to an extent on how it accepts queer sexuality. We just went through a Pride month where companies didn’t bother to change their logos to something rainbow-fied, either out of fear of being called slurs or out of fear of being called performative. It is a whole world of vilifying queerness because celebrating a sexuality that is different is a loud, proud act. Fear has been around since human beings realised the sabre-toothed tiger can eat their arms, or whatever, I don’t know history. Fear was probably there when the little spores were in the water. I want to play Spore again. Being queer is being a witch is playing with fire. If you’re worried you are experiencing feelings of internalised homophobia, embrace your community. Talk to more queer people, watch queer media, be comfortable in your sexuality, and if you catch yourself uncomfortable around a queer person who is openly expressing themselves, ask yourself whether the expression makes you uncomfortable because they’re confident or because you want to be confident like them. Be bold, be proud, stop caring whether a corporation celebrates you in the gayest month of the year. Go watch live drag. I used to think I would never be the sort of queer man who loved drag artists, and now I’m obsessed with Pythia and Jinkx Monsoon and Jujubee and Bosco and everything they mean to my community.

A Cute Scenery Album Recommendation

wherein I listen to an album recommended to me by someone I know, give my thoughts on it, whether any certain songs in particular became instant favourites, and refuse to give a star rating because no one is putting a gun to my head forcing me to.

This week: Melodrama – Lorde

I was somewhat surprised I only knew “Green Light” and “Liability” off of Lorde’s Melodrama. I seem to end up believing I know an album more than I do, but recently I have realised I need to listen to more music that isn’t just fed to me by the algorithm. My main playlist is over four thousand songs long, but I still feel as though the large majority of that is music that could be deemed “popular”. I want to be more well-rounded, but for now, I can listen to Melodrama in its entirety and truly enjoy it.

Having already loved “Green Light” and “Liability”—the latter is perhaps my favourite Lorde song—I knew there was a good chance I’d love the overall vibe of Melodrama. I’m far from being someone who understand musicality and music terminology, so I won’t even speak on the production side of things. I just enjoy the music, the vibe, the vocals—on “Writer In The Dark”, Lorde’s voice seems to be honouring Kate Bush, who I definitely need to listen to more often. Remind me to listen to a Kate Bush album soon.

Some of my favourite lyrics:

“Jack and Jill get fucked up and possessive when it gets dark” from “Sober”

“Well, summer slipped us underneath her tongue” from “The Louvre”

“All that a stranger would see // Is one girl swaying alone, stroking her cheek” from “Liability”

“Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost” from “Hard Feelings/Loveless”

Melodrama is a fantastic piece of art and really I ought to listen to more Lorde. I tend to listen to a lot of the same music on repeat because for me music is a sort of escapism into a place I feel most comfortable while I am out in the world, so I listen to the same one hundred songs over and over because they never disappoint me in making me feel comfortable and at peace. But I can see myself listening to the songs of Melodrama more often, so long as I make a concentrated effort to listen to them more often.

I love the way Lorde says melodrama.

On the Television

wherein I unpack what I have been witnessing on the television

On Dance Moms in the episode “Melissa Pleads the 5th”, Melissa was literally threatening legal action because her friends were talking about the state of her engagement to an unseen man whose name I’ve forgotten. Apparently he was the one who sent the attorney letter to the other dance moms, but frankly I couldn’t care who sent the letter, I think it’s insane and absurd to suggest the way these other women are approaching the subject is grounds for legal action. They want to understand why you’re so secretive, you’re not the queen of England babes, you are relevant because you are Maddie Ziegler’s mom. If the ring is off your finger, is the engagement off? I can understand if that is grounds for you to be depressed and frustrated with their continued nosiness, but we don’t know a thing! Melissa, stop being annoying. You never give me any reason to like you.

On Survivor in the episode “The Get to Know You Game”, I at last started season 48, because for anyone not aware Survivor started in 2000 and has been running ever since, and will hit its fiftieth season next year. Anyone who knows me understands I love reality television, particularly anything competitive, and for many years I have been deeply invested in Survivor, but the recent seasons have burned me a little. Season 41 onwards is deemed the “New Era” and features repetitive twists, the same exact beaches, and nauseating hyper-optimism about overcoming the odds. I delayed starting the forty-eighth season because I was not emotionally prepared for more of the exact same. I already know who wins, too.

With that out of the way, I finally started the episode, because I was dealing with a nauseating headache and suddenly craved the warm embrace of Jeff Probst yelling at contestants in a polite manner while they assembled a puzzle. I like the contestants—it isn’t a season of Survivor if I don’t immediately have favourites, and truthfully, if I don’t immediately have least favourites too. Already sick of Joe. Perhaps that’s skewed by social media’s view of him, though. I love Kamilla.

I can’t believe we’re still doing the same shit. At least finding the hidden idols has become a fun little challenge.

On Sex and the City in the episode “They Shoot Single People, Don’t They?”, Carrie grapples with being single for once in her life, and for a white straight woman in New York that sure is a miserable time to be alive. But her issue is allowing the depression to envelope her—she shouldn’t be so surprised when an unattractive photograph of herself appears on the cover of a magazine when she waltzed into the photoshoot looking half-asleep, smoking a cigarette, acting like her existence is a complete and utter waste. For a woman like Carrie Bradshaw, being single is supposed to be nothing but passing through a doorway into another relationship, but after she screwed over a relationship with a charmingly-normal man because she was convinced he was a secret freak…she needs to accept this interlude. Be depressed if you want to be, Carrie, but being single should never feel like a torture chamber. If you cannot be happy being single, you shouldn’t go being desperate for another relationship. And for the love of god, don’t go back to Big.

Unfinished Writings of the Absent-Minded

This segment is dedicated to the writers who have a million and one unfinished works sitting in storage, waiting to be picked up again. A true sucker for the untitled and incomplete, I thought I would share snippets of what I once would have thought could have been something. Perhaps this could even be a writing exercise for you.
I present:

They must not care much.

The blinds are drawn down, filtering out the sun, but one is bent up. You can see in. The light-blue, almost papery blind has that crack in it, enough for an eyeball. They must not care much.

There are trees behind me, a line of them. They stand around me with their arms folded. Guards. The sun burns down on me and some days I wilt, some days I think I’ll wrinkle. Those nights I stand in the shower and I let myself wrinkle.

The dried-out dirt beneath my feet is sprinkled with leaves. In the slit from the broken blind is the bedroom of someone I’ve only been introduced to briefly, as we passed him on day one in the canteen hall.

Something To Look Forward To

wherein I gush about something I am looking forward to, or in the case of right now: we talk about the fact I'm headed to Europe in hardly any time at all.

First Week in Europe:

It has always been a dream of mine to see Cabaret on stage. I adore the film, the music, the character of Sally Bowles. In London, on the West End, I get to witness the musical in person for the first time, and it is something I count down to with every bone in my body. To see songs like “Maybe This Time” and “Mein Herr” and the titular number performed before my very eyes…I think there will not be a happier theatre nerd in the row.

Second Week:

Chester Zoo is considered the UK’s best zoo and I will be assessing that, despite the fact I will only be visiting two zoos in the UK overall—trust if I had infinite money I would visit as many as one possibly could. Such a title brings a staggering amount of pressure on one zoo, but I have faith in Chester—the map impressively boasts of having dik-diks, aye-ayes, pudu, babirusas, gharials, flamingos, and okapis. Which is a list of random words (and flamingo) if you aren’t as obsessed with animals as I am. What do you mean I get to see a tamandua?

Third Week:

Every time I mention I’ll be in Amsterdam the reaction is usually the same. The perking of the ears, the widening of the eyes, a sense of joy and excitement and wonder. Amsterdam seems to have that effect on people. I get to wander the streets, take in the canals and the tulips, and appreciate a city so different to mine. That is the thing I am most excited about in Amsterdam, the city itself. A world of culture and life.

Fourth Week:

There is a privately-owned zoo called Paira Daiza I cannot stop getting hyped about. I will be there two separate days, because how often do I really think I will be in Belgium? Paira Daiza is gigantic, with animals from all corners of the globe, from the warthogs of Africa to the walruses of the cold to the takin of Asia and beavers of the Americas. You can spend the night in a number of residences, including one with a large glass window looking into the walrus den. Imagine watching TV with a walrus over your shoulder.

Go Forth...

I love to recommend things. As someone who consumes a lot of media, lots of art, I am always brimming with something to recommend, something for someone else to ingest...even if their opinion on the thing, the art, the media differs from mine. It is always important to remember that tastes vary, and one person's snide disapproval of something you adore does not diminish the fact you love something. So, go forth and ingest something from me to you. Sounds like I'm regurgitating into your mouth.

Films: The Life of Chuck, Materialists, and the documentary Enigma.

Books: Revenge by Yoko Ogawa, Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Music: the original cast recording of Chicago, the musical, from 1975.

Television: Game Changer, the game show where the game changes every show. I'm your host Sam Reich. I've been here the whole time.