Out of suffering comes wisdom, maybe!
And what better way to suffer than to stumble through some blog posts again.
Even though you and I both know what we need to do. Yet why not keep the door open? Maybe a dot hidden between these pages. Dots to connect for a constellation of your future.
Maybe a moment to practice one’s appearance. Appearance is worth mastering perhaps, as that unlocks a good bit of fun. Who doesn’t love the actor nowadays? If you are the mask you may as well enjoy the glitter you could put on it.
Instead of play-pretending about writing essays, we’ll take a more casual approach to these conversations. I’ll call them conversations, even though it’s one-sided, but that’s fine.
If this was an actual conversation I would prefer to remain silent. So you could figure this to be practice for me, much obliged.
What I’ve been thinking out are the boundaries worth maintaining in writing. In a way, writing is one of the most intimate ways to interact with another person. If you’re imaginative enough, you’re hearing my voice in your head, or your voice mimicking mine, and whatever images evoked come along too.
In such an intimate medium, where would you draw the line as a writer? Especially since this is an arbitrary name, insignificantly furled between many.
Another decision you have to take while writing is who you’re writing for. Seeing as the objective of this is to just suffer for some wisdom, then I suppose these writings are for anyone wanting to follow a story. Come and go if you’d like.
Maybe the author needs to wonder whether they’re willing to hurt their reader, too. This is question which gives way to a Politically Correct labelling. Maybe the flowery language and word dancing makes it for an entertaining sort of journey. Some would call it nauseating – I suppose it’s all of little significance as long as the objective is achieved.
I guess if one’s imagination is dulled enough there’s no salvaging the writing. A memory-overdrive could rarely be considered a better state – tracing and hardening what one remembers, rather than what one needs to learn. Filling in memories with falsities, facts or fancies. It’s an amusing contrast to the tunnel of history behind us. At least with history you get a chance toward some wisdom, at least to our nature. Could you venture into that dark cavern? I can see the Roman statues waiting, pillars and graffiti with a brothel’s remains.
Well, we can only write about writing so long. The same way one could create their website, make the first post about how they made the website, and then never to return. Maybe they’re the true winners.
I’ve used several static site generators. It seems the best solution is to bake your own if possible. At least in that way you aren’t reading docs, and instead stuck with programming thoughts, however grunt-worky it feels to get this stuff working.
A funny thing about anonymous online writings is how, in some respects, you’re devaluing your own time and the time of others. That one would prefer to write to the void rather than call an old college friend. No point sporting the delusion one is a good or bad person anyway.
But yes, true mastery seems to come from conciseness. It’s the ultimate bell curve, isn’t it? Those who aren’t so inclined to write keep things curt. Those who aspire for so much try to fill the pages. And those who keep their objective in sight keep it short too.
That’s the funny thing about writing online in such a low-stakes environs – having an objective clearly makes you autistic, yet not having an objective betrays quality writing. As though this is a contest… which it isn’t. I just think we all need that delusion what we’re doing is building our constellation if we’re going to put enough effort to make these words.
It’s the funny sort of curse though: that one may be better off silent. At least that’s what it seems. To swallow the discomfort which comes from misunderstandings rather than drowning everything in a bunch of words. You’d be surprised how quickly you’d forget things you thought you ought to say sorry about.
Sorries don’t mean much anyway. Instead of sorry one ought to wonder how they ended up in such a situation in the first place. Accepting sorries is just a way to get exploited from someone else. Trading words for suffering, so the Sorry transactions continue.
Sorries sow the seed for destructive things. Comforting and assurances suffocate and stifle. If Love is the best teacher, why are spoiled children flailing into their later years? If Friendship gives value to survival, why does one grow miserly amongst their friends? The sages one could look up to cast their eyes down, however indiscreetly. They no longer understand these terms from the typical plane.
The longer I live, the more crooked and beautiful Nature seems to be in its undying cruelty. It couldn’t make sense any other way.
Not to completely forego the motherly component to things.