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Nothing's Free

Hello Black Hockey Jesus Reader and consumer of absolutely free internet content with no ads. Why are you here? What do you want from me? My heart? My soul? Blood! Guts! Addiction! Sordid Tales of Infidelity!

What? Tell me. I’ll write it. Send me an email. Ask me a question. Give me a topic. Do you want a poem to read at your grandma’s funeral? Send me some details. I’ll write the damn thing. Don’t you see? The Black Hockey Jesus Internet Extravaganza Page (blogs are dead) is for you, Black Hockey Jesus Reader. I’ve got nothing to sell you. Nothing to promote. There’s no big splashy My Real Name across the top to convince you I’m some bigger deal than I am. This is where I have the pleasure to not be “the real me”. This is where me comes to die. I write on the computer. It appears. It vanishes. It’s a metaphor. Think on it.

When I’m writing for fun and for free, I forget to worry about taking. When I forget about taking, I forget about my self. When I forget about my self, I’m paradoxically introduced to my self and—GUESS WHAT—knowing my self is a lot like knowing nothing, and it is, but it’s also more than you ever imagined at the same time.

If you’re confused, then just give me some money. Or if you’ve ever read something here for free that you enjoyed, then give me some money. Please. It’s not for me. If it is for me in any way, it’s a roundabout way for me to inflate my charitable ego and feel good about myself, but at least I’m aware of it. Isn’t copping to a residue of selfishness in my front of selflessness worth something? A measly 5 bucks?

Here goes.

I’m still planning to run the Chicago Half-Marathon on July 21st and I’m still trying to raise $1000 to help cure juvenile myositis. It’s this weird fucked up autoimmune something disease about muscles. I’m not a doctor, man. I’m just a guy who met a guy who has a daughter who has JM. Her name is Megan and this is her:

I raised some money for her in 2009 and then I got to have breakfast with her and I thought things like Man, you can actually do things that are bigger and more important than provoke Internet controversies about obesity and broken marriages. And also, selfishly, it occurred to me that, hey, I have a daughter and, if she was sick, wouldn’t I want people to run half-marathons for her and raise money to help cure her? Of course I would.

So I’m going to run fast, Megan—as fast as I can. So far I’ve raised $495 and that’s really cool, but the awesome part about maybe making it to $1000 is that some Saint named Patty (not that St. Patty) will match my $1000 in reader donations—that’s $2000 for Megan, the kids, and a cure.

If you can make a contribution, no matter how small, please click here and click the blue DONATE button on the next page’s upper right. Also, feel free to promote the next page by spreading the word on Facebook and Twitter.

And I promise to keep writing here for fun and for free with no hidden motives apart from possibly alleviating loneliness and giving some comfort, to break through my readers’ excluded encagement in the self (purpose of literature copped from DFW).

Again if you want to make a donation, CLICK HERE. Thanks ~bhj