Brain Contour

The first time I answered the question “How addicted to blogging are you?”, I ended up getting a high score of 87%. That was three years ago and I was only a year-old blogger. Recently, I answered the same question and to my surprise, the score was even much higher.

Look at my score:

Are you addicted to blogging as well? Try it by clicking the image above.

Blog traffic is Money. Traffic is the key to getting profit. The more traffic you get, the more chances you let customers see your products. In other words, you endorse and offer information about your product to people who get to click your site. With more clicks, you succeed faster. Admit it, traffic is the key to online business.

A traffic exchange program, that is being offered by so many websites right now, applies this basic idea: View other member’s websites and they will view yours. It is classified in two, automatic and manual.

I am surprised to see that Blogger added a new feature on its platform. Have you seen that there is now a “Stat” menu added on top of the Blogger interface? The “Stat” is useful especially for those who are still starting with their blogs and will want to know the basic stats like the number of daily or monthly pageviews.

I asked Entrecard this: How can I convert my credits into cash? If non-convertible, how will these credits be used?

Entrecard’s answer: You can not convert the credits to cash. You can use your credits to advertise on other blogs.

With the existence of online technology, who isn’t into blogging? Many of those who are spending hours in the web are most likely maintaining online sites where they write anything they do, from protesting on the streets to commenting on the recent calamities to crying from heartbreak to sharing hobbies and shopping list, to even the daily weather condition.

A quick googling will reveal that a blog is the newest form of journalism with a reverse chronology, unfiltered content, comments, links, a relaxed attitude, and appropriated text. It is a short cut for a web log, a place where you can cover your own event and present it in an informal tone you want. A blog is your rants in a journal that is made public and readers post comments online.

Do your friends take your childhood disappointments and misadventures seriously? As for mine, sadly, never mind. In a conversation I had with close friends yesterday, never have they been sorry about my stories spiced up with sour remembrances of days past. Am I inadequate with attention? Fine if they laughed. It was worse when those moments I wanted them to hear didn’t seem to have significance of sorts. Not meaningful enough.

Maybe, it’s funny for me to be forlorn over spilt milk. Come on. Is there really no sense in looking back and basking in the afterthought that I can still dignify, by dint of memory, even the foregone moments I once detested but now merrily summon. Like when …

What’s wrong with him? What’s with that slight cacophony in the way he moves nowadays? Every day, he senses a lovey-dovey cadence of delight he only felt in the comfort of a swing in the backyard back home.

He is the composed gentleman. He is acutely aware that he is, at this moment, engaging in a world he never existed in so well. As you are about to read, he is on his way to dipping his toes into the relationship puddle after a significant bout of solitude.

It’s all because of Miss Eve. His heart has been lying dead for the past months. He could describe it as an organ that had lost its joie de vivre, the strength to possess that capacity to love. Yet, here comes Eve, pricks it with her smile and intoxicating giggles and a hip that sways to a rhythm she alone can create, and, without further elucidation, his heart realizes that there is life after death.

Brookings SD Post Office

Nothing is moving as if my Wecota Annex room is devoid of the slightest breath. In the flash of stillness, or the impassivity of almost everything, I play a different music in my mind of believing and not to. Believing that somehow a thing hidden somewhere in this room is not controlled by the momentary placidity. Not believing that nothing is moving. Believing that the bed lamp, glowing in its 60 watts bulb, providing a rather dim yellowish or could be golden light, being squared by a wooden two-deck bed and circled by my own imaginings, is imaginarily breathing.