My concerns with the public blog format have to do with how it affects my relationships and reveal those thoughts I hadn’t had the wherewithal to voice in the moment. Suffice that this blog is like a superhero comic- those utterances which might get me in trouble, and also a sort of tell-all users guide to anyone who would care to know or read about how I write, (and maybe therefrom try to think about how I think).
I play both protagonist and antagonist on here. I try to suss out my thought’s in isolation, though usually I’m thinking about steps of a project.
Sometimes I delay posting because I’m in the middle of some social cold war, and temperance dovetails with procrastination. Other times I’m just busy, even for months at a time. I think this blog serves a social function for an imagined wide base of support, though it is not so wide. Sometimes I get six views. Have I alienated people? What is it about this content that does not encourage a bookmark or a revisit?
This seems blasphemous to write, because I would tear the blog apart if it got too big. I’m part alienator, somehow. Maybe it’s a learned behavior. I think of it as fueling my practice. Maybe I’m attached to my anger, something I’m very critical about in others. The artist is that one who listens to the blend of sounds that come from a radio tuned neither to one station nor the other; hearing both and nothing and something else too; dredging from ether, and wearing on the patience of anyone else who might like to tune into to some specific thing. What an annoying person.
When the artist leaves home, he cannot return. This quote has been on my mind recently. Even at home I cannot return, it’s over in a way.
My student colleague and I were joking that our experiences mean more for having questioned them. That’s about the same sentiment as stated above- it’s a way of making something from nothing. Polemic. I love polemic. I think I seek it out, and it’s natural for others to too. This curiosity precedes social justice et al, which I think accounts for the inflammatory rhetoric of those of privilege, who also consider themselves romantics, myself included. Only upon returning to reality do we have a chance at humility.
What could it mean to have humility as a goal?
I went to bed upset last night. I feel put down here.
