| 7:27 p.m. | a type of eulogy | 2003-06-12 |
| Reaped | Dammit! Mr. Ferrara dropped out. Oh well. Paranoia runs high among online journalers, I must say. Have fits of it myself sometimes, wondering what various types of shit would hit the fan the day Crab discovers this, or bosslady, or m00n or my mom. Actually sis wanted to know the address & I wouldn't give it. "It's kinda private" I said. Let her google it, she's a child of the computer age. Besides, with the exception of a couple of friends who already know me to be insane & sarcastic, most other real world acquaintances would run screaming. Understand what he means though: it's difficult to maintain the personal candor that permeates a private journal in the virtual mode. In the back of your mind sits the Editor, looking over your shoulder, wording things a slightly different way, thinking of the repercussions that come with posting your true feelings about your s.o., your drug habit, your pissant job to the general English-reading population of the world. I'm doing it right now. Most of us do, except maybe Joyce enthusiasts & the insane. It's difficult NOT to edit. It's something taught to all decent lit. students eventually, or you learn it yourself. And who's gonna read your stuff if it makes no sense? Why would anyone want to read about our boring lives anyway? Can't tell you how many articles on blogging I've read that ask that same question. Though I suspect the people asking that are quietly pissed they don't have one. Ha ha, no online friends for you, stupid blog-less logs. i write here 'cos i like to write. keeps me sane, an outlet for overabundant energy. doesn't hurt that it's instantaneously published and read by my [small iota] of adoring fans. somedays i'll even entertain the thought that eventually someone BIG will discover this journal & wanna publish it. fame! fortune! and all its discontents! i know it won't happen. but it's nice to imagine. if it weren't for the internet we'd all be Emily Dickensons, locked up in our house scribbling our obscure lives away on scraps of paper. but in a way, i guess we still kinda are.
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Sown |
| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
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