Comment puis-je vous rejoindre si sol voltigeant?

If I never hear from the other side of the black box, is it really a posterior, or the lack of noumenal reaching?

Anyway just hope existentialism isn't out to try me like epistemology attempted to challenge my visual cortex, ha ha ha.

Loneliest year of my life

...

The monumental task

The monumental task for my blog is to edit it. Really. Simple, right? I do it all the time! Well...

I rarely edit once my post has been published. When I do, I leave a note explaining why. So what I do is what's called self-editing, which is essentially a synonym of rewriting.

What I mean by edit, I guess, is more akin to polish. I need to polish this carbon-handed labour of love, because otherwise I grow more afraid of it.

When I grow more afraid of my lifeline, I tend to leave it in the dust (for a while), and then time usually nags at me and I pick it up again, fresh and anew. It's a writer's method that works for me, but it's completely chaotic and it does not get me anywhere in terms of producing works that engages people to read it.

There's a reason this lifeline of mine is looking rather sombre. Rather limited in its social scope. It's a teenager's fever dream, ffs, and I am more than happy to keep it going. Teenagers practically rule the world (and that's a compliment to the teenagers) with autocratic figureheads like Trump and the IMF representing the infantile banks and then there's... me, my teenage self, ruling my life.

I almost veered into the dangerously political again, and I just did that earlier this month with a bombastic blog post titled: "Fuck you, LIBÉRALS. Fuck you, TORIES." which, of course, has barely anything to do with politics and was just a blog post showing off my new bong, tentatively named Azurite (instead of Arsenal because honestly I'm not that much of an English football fan these days - but ARSENAL is technically embossed on it, which I don't mind).

Back on topic.

So I need to go back through each one of my posts, and if it's a freewrite - leave it alone, and if it's not, make sure it's something that I wouldn't mind someone random online reading (as long as they're 16+, which is what this blog is!), or that I wouldn't mind a close friend reading.

That is essentially the balance I have been trying to strike since 2007 on this blog: writing for an audience that I don't necessarily know, blogging of the personal emotions, memories, events, and phenomena I observe, and oftentimes over-analyzing things because I like to write, when I write.

Writing is very much in-the-moment to me (which is one of the reasons why I still have not published a novel, I think). I look at it very much so like a trapeze artist going across the Niagara, but with a rocket-assisted balancing pole that automatically brings you back up if you fall, one way or another. Maybe I write too personally sometimes; maybe sometimes my writing is so dull and mechanical I fall off on the other end, too; but there's always a blank page, a slack line waiting for me to fill with the weight of my words the next day, and that's a great comfort to me. The possibility of having something to write is addictive, somehow.

So there are so many challenges on the way to polishing this carbon blog into a diamond blog. I think one of the major difficulties is that I'm kind of in love with my own writing. It's therapeutic to me, and lord knows I need therapy. (For further reading: over 12 years ago I published a piece on how I use my writing/blogging for good. I'm happy to see I still hold true to my "writer's authenticity", wherever I may find it!)

A pigeon sheltering from the wind at Fisher Rare Book Library

A thoughtfulfree Song

SingSonglost I have been but will not continue to be

I really ought to take my time; reverently

Even though the words kinda rhyme-ish

I'm nowhere near the wit level of No Such Thing As A Fish

And I don't wanna be

 

I borrowed a book all about it; all about poetry and I still haven't opened it

Can't I see; can't you see; I'm kinda sick of the iambic poetromercy

And were I to be an e-poet and not merely a blogger

I suppose I would have to relearn iambic pentameter

 

So to continue whatever ramble these lines are; do lay your eyes o'er on

I find it fancy to add - an emdash here, and a common breather there'r

And although most of my writs are odes to Mnemosyne

Please; have Mercy on me... for I'm still an Overwatch addict

 

I can't really say what the next lines will inscribe upon thee

Even mentioning them could break the spell I cast upon them

Thus I write; thus the writs write themselves

And perhaps there will be continuation - and a more just Overtime

Saliently I will soon end today's written tanking venture

And though the first half of this poem has nothing to do with the video game I love

And although I still play it every single day

I must say

It's a lonely world for addicted heroic agents of dystopia's demise - and a cold, cold day here in New Queen Street...