In the tradition of meta-posting, I’ll take the opportunity to announce that my efforts to transform this activity into something “academic” have failed. Introspection has revealed that:
- I am not yet knowledgeable enough to contribute ideas that are both interesting and accessible.
- I’m actually more self-conscious about how silly blogging is when I’m trying to explicate on the importance of various theoretical ideas than I am when I’m just journaling.
How does it go in the Watchmen, that self-conscious analysis of the bizarre decision to don tights and a mask and go fight crime? To journal is a natural narrative art, but to put it on the internet, to expose it to the harsh criticism of unfeeling spam bots (denzians [sic] of level 4 dark – worse than mosquitoes and alleyways of ghosts), is akin to a crutch nearly sawn in half, ready for that final cataclysmic split at any moment.
For a long time now I’ve lost the ability to journal, offline or on, and the corresponding ability to introspect (and consequently appreciate) the day to day process of living. My recent memory is dominated by a relentless desire to get there, a goal whose ephemeral shifting shape forms the proper lie to fit each moment, making me appreciate not where I am or where I am going, but how fucking far away everything seems.
It is a self imposed loneliness, where success is just the end of some timelike path. Only now, writing this, do I realize that all endings are lies, and that my chronic aversion to plans, to events, is merely a symptom of subconscious understanding.
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