Sunday, October 24, 2004

i was dreaming of you

yes you. each one of you out there pouring your words into a vaccum. into a time-ordered vaccum. into a chronological, archival, irrelevancy. and why that is.

we are not capable of maintaining the interesting dialogue indefinately. it's simply not possible. sometimes we are tired, or angry, or consumed in something we care about. and our lives ebb, and flow to and away from this linear expression.

and why wouldn't it? each post is nearly an island. sure, we have categories to link similar ideas together, but lets be honest, as readers do we ever click on someone's category and read everything in it to read that entire theme? never. because categories bind in the loosest sense possible. they are arbitrary.

in the blog world, the concrete is a calendar. a week, a month, a year. I haven't the time. sorry, you are fascinating, but i haven't the time to read an entire back week, month or year --and a year is the most logical way to learn something-- of your writings.

when two humans meet in real life, there is a bluster of show. there are semi-fake faces put on, and sometimes we still connect. Those faces aren't always disingenous, but we do it. it's a social, political, saftey kinda thing. but, sometimes we crack through them, and blogs were awesome at that for a long time. you could read someone's personal thoughts and connect directly to them. it removed a barrier for understanding and connection.

as good of a starting point as that is, it fails. nothing develops past that most times. and why should it. if i sat down with a new friend, and all they did was tell me what they thought about things for the entire engagement, i wouldn't come back from the bathroom. why should i? who cares what you think? no one, really.

and this led us to a whole new layer of masks. the funny. the witty. the odd. the geek. the love gusher. backtracking to high school and trying on one more one-dimensional cover-up. because if you're funny i will read about what you think longer. or odd. or if i feel the need to be tortured with hate, i will read your love gushing. but no matter how funny, how smart, how witty or original, i will grow tired and stop reading.

see tony pierce. blah.

i can only watch a kid whose figured out what he did wrong in high school try violently to correct it for so long. he's a caricature.

but he doesn't need to be. and that's sad.

tony, like some of you out there have a lot to offer. a lot of interesting parts to you. passions. excitements. fears. loves. and all i get to share when i read you is "what you think." i never get to see what you do, where you are, what you love unless it's neatly packaged in a well-placed blog and dropped on an ever extending timeline. weeks, years, months of nothing but you filtered through your fears, hopes, lies, dreams, and other filters.

revealing nothing.
subject to passing moods and ambitions.

representing less than nothing.

there is a disconnect here. somewhere. we are social beings. we are meant to engage. and engaging doesn't mean commenting. or debating, or emailing, or reading faithfully. it means feeling. thinking. exploring. sometimes it means being disgusted, or awed. sometimes we feel kinship, or hate, or lust, or whatever.

if you had to live with me, but i dominated the conversation by 100 words to your 5, and i constantly filled your head with my own thoughts, never showing you anything, only telling--how long could you take it?

vapid. empty.
this is what our blogs have become.

only people who have some outside connection or engagement to the writer get anything out of it. it's too thin to do otherwise.

but, we are diverse, interesting humans. even the most boring human is interesting to me when i get to see more than the one layer. we are all about something. this or that. but something. we all tick a bit differently and throughout history, those differences have made our luminaries. but, it wasn't our luminaries telling us what to love about them.

ever watch a movie and there was one character that just fascinated you. you watched everything they did, pondered about them, bonded some with them, and in general engaged (again, a limited engagement)?

why? they were oblivious to you, obviously. they were just doing what they do, you brought the interesting, not them.

and thats the thing.

so, i was dreaming about my years of blogging, and you, and why this never works for long with me. and i was thinking about software, something like blog meets wiki, meets something else, that lets us more fully present ourselves, without specifically presenting a direct thought, or feeling.

how many bloggers write fiction, poetry, notes in their spiral notebooks, take pictures, paint, sculpt, play guitar, sing, play chess, watch movies 24 hours a day, have too much sex, whatever. how many? all of them do things with their lives.

when i look at this blog and ask, how representitive of me is it, the answer is a resounding "not at all". sure, it shows my primary passion has been photography, sure it shows, as much as my girded text can, that i have hopes, dreams, fears, and broken parts.

but so much of what makes me an interesting, engaged, and alive person has no place in this timeline, project my thoughts, medium.

and, i thought of this, and dreamt of this, and asked myself, if you were going to write a new tool, what might it be like...

Posted by ruzz on October 24, 2004 at 01:30 PM in the fringe mentality | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack