Welcome, fossil. You’ve stumbled upon the digital equivalent of a prehistoric cave painting.
Let’s clear this up immediately: I am not, nor have I ever been, a Geisha. I don’t pour tea in elaborate silk robes, nor do I master the art of conversation while playing a shamisen. The confusion arose because people, in their infinite wisdom, began referring to me as “Gay ‘sya” — which, depending on who’s slurring after three bottles of San Miguel, either means I possess a certain flamboyant charm or that my existence raises questions your conservative uncle isn’t ready to answer. I’ve stopped correcting them. It’s funnier this way.
A Blog Older Than Your Ancestors’ Land Bridges
I have been blogging since 2006. Yes, that’s right. Long before Neanderthals figured out that dragging their knuckles across the Bering Strait land bridge connecting Pangaea might be a good way to find lunch. I was here, tapping away on a dial-up connection that screamed like a dying pterodactyl, while you were still a twinkle in the primordial soup.
Back then, “blogging” wasn’t a career path for wellness influencers hawking sponsored matcha. It was therapy. Pure, unfiltered, existential-dread-in-text-form therapy. The kind where you’d spend three hours crafting a single paragraph about why your microwave beeping four times instead of three felt like a personal betrayal.
The Golden Age (Before Algorithms Ate Our Souls)
In those halcyon days, “traction” meant someone voluntarily typed your URL into a browser because they remembered you existed. “Following” wasn’t a metric—it was a blood pact. If someone followed you, they had read 47 posts about your broken heart, your misguided haircut, and your theory that office printers are sentient demons. They got to know who you really were through the depth of your narratives, the quirks of your sentence structure, and the sheer audacity of your punctuation!!!
Personality showed in how you narrated things. Not mindful of grammar nor syntax error. Did you use too many em dashes? Were you a semicolon sadist? Did you ramble for 800 words before revealing the entire story was a metaphor for a burnt bagel? That was the art. That was the craft.
There were no stupid algorithms deciding your worth. No SEO keyword stuffing. No “engagement pods.” Just you, a blinking cursor, and the silent prayer that someone out there also thought their roommate was a sociopath.
What This Blog Is Now
A museum. A time capsule. A passive-aggressive love letter to an internet that died somewhere around 2012 when Mark Zuckerberg looked at humanity and said, “You know what this needs? Thumbs.”
I still write when the mood strikes—usually at 2 AM, fueled by cheap whiskey and nostalgia. The grammar is chaotic. The takes are lukewarm at best. But unlike every other corner of the web, nobody is tracking your clicks, selling your data, or forcing you to watch a 30-second ad before reading about why I think pigeons are government drones.
So pull up a chair, you beautiful dinosaur. Scroll through the archives. Laugh at my old LiveJournal energy. And if you call me a "gay 'sya" again, I will write a 5,000-word manifesto about it. You’ve been warned.
Geisha Diaries
*Founder, President, and Sole Member of the Anti-Algorithm Alliance (est. 2006, membership: 1)*
P.S. Yes, the template is ugly. No, I won’t change it. That’s the point.
