No one wants to hear
What you dreamt about
Unless you dreamt about them
Of course that’s the case. Why would it be any other way? No need to be sad about it, curse the selfishness of our hearts, reduced to melancholy – no, I’m not trembling in angst about how these things ought to work between us. These words between us.
Funny enough so the song continues:
Don’t let that stop you
Tell them anyway
And you can make it up
As you go
Well, I “let” it “stop me” for our conversations between us, and in most respects this is most preferable. Why unnecessarily pollute an otherwise productive(?) connection?
So many moons ago I concluded to ban any more thoughts about my “self” and experiences or my “interests” and other such things. And this works wonderfully for “real life” and it works wonderfully for quelling ego too. But there is a side-effect.
Whether it is of benefit or of misfortune–though I’m inclined to the former–no longer speaking of “your” dreams and other stray thoughts cools down one’s passions too. Naturally, as anything one is passionate about is close to the heart, close to the centered heart, centered thoughts, selfish thoughts, close to one’s experience of the world.
For a decade or more most of my conversations are a question and answer sort of juncture – most preferable to me, as it doesn’t require much thinking nor dancing, rewording, forcing whatever fixations one has into a suitable sentence. No, it is instead a General’s Report of another’s Battlefield, and only a few times does it cross my mind: why am I asking all of these questions I have mild interest in at best, and why am I still on this phone for so long, and why do I even talk to these people at all?
I usually answer, “well, maybe it’s good to keep in touch” and so these questions fade away.
Thus we both march on. Our objectives still in sight, whether driven by accolades, economics, or status games. Hard to say if my stance would change above anytime soon.
But with this side-effect comes something I would regard as a misfortune: losing the ability to write.
There is nothing to discuss.
You cannot write these words for me. We cannot have our Q&A and I won’t be able to listen in pleasant silence.
When you ban any sort of identifiable experience, any experience or thought at all – when you’re committed to never saying much unless it’s mostly abstract, avoiding any thoughts of “the past” and ego-traps, etc… there’s not that much to say.
There are a few topics I could bother to write about, but those come with strings attached. Those come with violating my rules, violating my anonymity. Though I’ll concede holding such attachment to obscurity is narcissistic in its own way.
Would you be comfortable if your pseudonymous username links to your ID? You can either ignore it, accept it, or not post at all.
One could retort, “what are you afraid of?” and it’s a good question. We could puff our chest and say, “Who cares!” and write away on things that would actually interest me, actually are involved in my day to day, however much it may link to my identity someday.
But when you commit any sort of decision, transaction such as above, look at it plain on the paper.
One is trading anonymity for a passion of writing. That’s the transaction. And this passion of writing is, more often than not, an end-in-itself. Unless you’d like to make a “profitable” blog others would love to visit, perhaps.
But the above trade – if you stay committed to writing what you want to write about – leaves you a little more exhausted, with a few more essays to share, and a lifetime of burden thereafter.
All writing requires intent and if one’s intent is to indulge in passion without concern of the consequences then unfortunately unforeseen consequences may come to bite. Unnecessary interactions. Exposures. Reclaiming passionate writing at the cost of effective writing.
Why write publicly when, in most cases, it won’t do much of anything for your day-to-day reality? We could whisper it may, in fact, energize you to kindle some passions. But depending on the passion, it’s probably best perhaps to engage the passion, and let the actions speak for themselves.