Monday, August 14, 2017

Why in the F@#!? Do I Even Blog Anymore?





Three hundred and forty. That is the number of blog posts I have done since I started this thing in 2011. You know the drill, every Monday I sit at a computer and I slam on the keys (or copy paste when very sad or hung over) until something somewhat presentable can be posted online.

Well, I really don’t know why I do it anymore. I know I have threatened to stop many times before (and that’s not what I am necessarily doing now), but I have been thinking about this whole process and trying to understand just WHY I keep it up.

This post is already way too meta but hey, my blog, my world.

I have been thinking about this because this past weekend someone told me that someone they know (that I don’t) has read my blog for some time and ‘knows’ me through it. Hearing this literally/actually made me cringe and I felt a hot flash of embarrassment.

Why would I be embarrassed when this is all a self-inflicted pursuit?! Well because I don’t think that anyone ACTUALLY reads it. I mean I know some people do but I don’t use stat counter or track any of this (purposefully so) and for those that do sometimes read it, I assume they already know me/I know them, so it doesn’t matter all that much because it’s just an extension of my zany personality, oversized ego, and weird brain waves they already know IRL.

As soon as I hear someone that I don’t know, or know only very vaguely, actually reads this thing I am faced with a reality that I truly don’t think should or does exist. Silly I know, but that’s the strange truth of it.

This got me to thinking about how we project ourselves in these strange online/mediated ways. There is this need/want to do so but it is also reflectively repulsing (at least to me). Most of what I present online are slivers of my true self and they are very controlled (or as much as the platform/medium allows).

But then I’ve been thinking, are those slivers the wholes in some way? It isn’t, I mean, nothing is ever the whole of self, but the slivers are not the wholes by any means. But what if, especially today, the slivers are all that we have to know each other? Like, what if only through these small exposed, presented parts of ourselves becomes defacto agency of the self?!

Very basic/generic philosophic thoughts I know but SERIOUSLY everyone, isn’t that a crap cake we are all serving each other?!

I know most people know this and make effort to act and project their lives in certain ways to fit or flounder these perceptions but it all feels a bit distraught, doesn’t it?

I guess getting back to the question of why the fuck do I even blog anymore, what I guess I’m getting at is that it feels so strange that I don’t grasp the reality/perception of something that I know is public, I know is read, I purposefully continue, I purposefully share, etc. etc. and how that might affect how people perceive me. It makes me feel very very weirded out to think that others are getting a sense of who “I” am through this. It is all a gaf, this is all just a small mental exercise I do so that my brain doesn’t bust open sometimes. It is so little of me it’s like nothing, but ya, I can see why it is/can be seen otherwise. (fuck)

Originally I started this blog thing to write about ‘Art’ in a serious-ish type of way. As readers know, it has devolved and has become some weird journal-esq, into the void hot mess sometimes. But that’s the nature of this beast and me and although I am do not regret it, I still can’t understand why anyone would care to keep reading it.

I guess the point of this bizzaro post is that if you have read my blog (even if I know you) please don’t tell me. It makes my face turn red and it makes me think I should stop all this nonsense and to edit myself incase some of this might actually matter.

Not that I don’t appreciate it. God, it’s cool if you waste some of your precious time with my dopey thoughts every Monday but please, please, please, don’t tell me you do. I like the bubbles and the slivers that I live in and I don’t want them to be popped or shown more than my own constructed reality can handle.