Wanderings as to why …

I am curious about the weblogging culture. Is there a lot of prairie dogging happening out there? Are we as bloggers self involved? Or is there a whole lot of listeners out there who are happy to sit on the floor at sharing time and give someone else a go?

Looking around some other other sites, I felt a little voyeuristic,  in that, with a cynics eyes, I sought some sublime entry that would encapsulate the world for me in a simple jumble of letters.

What I found, looking about like a sticky nose, was diversity. I looked around briefly to see what other folks used their notepad for and found a wide variety of persons and purposes that mostly confirmed to me that there is a lot of parallel isolation.

This caused me to ask the question of myself: What is my purpose in tappity tap taps?

What is it in the human nature that is attracted to the sheer shamelessness of publication? Is an unpublicised log of brain expurgations really publication?

If the public is not aware of an act or instance of making something publicly known is this still a publication? I guess the traditional equivalent would be printing a book that nobody reads? As Bill Callahan would have it (and I paraphrase slightly here and the emphasis is mine also) ‘What do you shout down a well?’

I guess the beauty and also the detraction to tappity tap taps is that what we ‘publish’ is not necessarily of much import to any but ourselves. I am not claiming any special dispensation on this topic either. I apologise to anyone who might happen to come across this labouring of letters. But then again what else the communication of a pea brain idea from one pea brain to another? Who’s to say what is of import and what is of not (import).

The tappity tap taps is attractive in that collected together  it can push our rabbitings on, following our esoteric interests and commentary without requiring the resources or indeed the interest to refine the product. I would imagine that there are not many entries that are actually proofread by a second party before being placed out in the great wilderness of self publication. The embarrassment to have some other individual read over what one has written under cover of the darkness of night and then the contradiction of then placing your literary dirty washing online for all to see.

It might actually hurt your soul (or in my case whatever passes for it) to read back over some of the rather god awful, self absorbed and altogether far too earnest crap that spills out of our oversensitive grey matter. C.S Lewis and Aslan were right: onwards and upwards. Or whatever passes for it.

But then on the flip side of this is the prima idea of creation: that we are closer to designing our own worlds by defining and perfecting our method of coming to terms with the mad bad world and we must hear this by communicating … how much harder is it to justify some motivation or action to someone else than it is to possess or do that action. I think fondly and with respect of teachers who are able to explain.

Following that then is the importance of re-reading. Not so much to sentimentalise, nor with a nostalgic air, but in order to analyse and improve what we are, what we think and what we write. Attempting to understand ourselves and our neighbours, and, with an empathetic air, see what we show others and why and vice verca.

Already I have learnt something from writing this entry. I can see that writing short sentences will be the key to understanding in this world of scrolling and rolling eyes.


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