These are just things I write, okay? Sometimes they're profound insights
or funny stories and I'm really proud of them. Other times it's mindless
rhetoric that I've since completely changed my mind about and am ashamed
of. But most of the time it's just words.
Today's Fun
Do you want to help support this nonsense?
Recent Fun:
(04/26/02)
(04/20/02)
(04/18/02)
(04/10/02)
(04/09/02)
(04/08/02)
(04/07/02)
(04/06/02)
(04/02/02)
(03/24/02)
Exposed Thoughts
I stand before you naked.Well, actually I sit hunched before my computer mostly naked. But actuality is beside the point because that was supposed to be a metaphor. I can't fall asleep, partly because I've slept too much which doesn't do me any good because that's past tense and I need to be asleep now. The other part of why I can't seem to fall asleep is these thoughts that keep mulling around my head right when I'm about to drift away. So now it's time to exorcise them by dragging them out into words, incidentally publically (at least in theory, I haven't looked at my webstats lately.) If nothing else maybe I'll feel better for having posted something recently.
Nailing words to an idea weakens it.
In a way it's stronger because it spreads, thought can spread through words more readily than most mediums. But I mourn the potential lost when an idea is forced into words. For every phrase I write I lament the other possible ways that idea may have been expressed. Telling a tale in a way that it is told yet untold is perhaps the greatest art in storytelling. Entertain and edify with what's clear and visible, but create with what isn't there. For more mundane words, the backstory which is hinted at but not put through exposition. The motivations which can only imagined from creating anew, reading patterns behind what is written. Someone once said music is the silence between the notes. Life may be the mystery between our lives. The gaps, the bonds, the million little collisions that affect the course of the whole.
Lately I've been hiding from my own creative impulses with actions that require thought without imagination. I could be afraid of giving birth.
The creative desire is, for me, very similiar to the reproductive and family-raising urges. To leave something of oneself behind. Some thing no matter how tiny and insignificant compared to universe, that lasts longer than I do. For a very long time my only real and meaningful goal in life was to have something I'd written published. Now that I have I seem to be drying up, crumbling, blowing away in the breeze. My ambition for writing success has increased, but my drive to accomplish the actual task of writing has dwindled. The ideas are there but it's harder than ever to pin them gently to words so that they can be passed on and yet are free enough for them to be enjoyed. If you love someone for their free spirit and carefree wildness, how do you keep loving them without binding them to yourself and destroying what the attraction was all along?
Not a conclusion I'd intended, but my time here is up.