You know, I do keep a diary, but I almost never write in it. Last year I filled up a notepad of scribbles and the like, but this year I’ve barely had the inclination. Most of my miscellaneous thoughts have been posted here on this blog to make a sort of an exhibition of things. The writing then goes beyond itself in its purpose and potential.
There’s something sacred about writing, about condensing thoughts, emotions and experiences into intelligible combinations of symbols and characters for others to comprehend. In its essence it is an incredibly altruistic action, but so is it a form of meditative exercise as one transmutes the intuitive, the felt, into a form which is arguable, explorable, explainable, etc. It’s a sort of “laying everything out” to see the bigger picture with all the little pieces fitted together which reveals a larger picture which might’ve been elusive prior.
It’s an outward act, and extension via will outwards towards the world, to other people, and so forth. Something which comes very naturally, although I hesitate often as to avoid the tasteless and pointless. Sometimes I’ll write some messy stream-of-consciousness thing, which is only done as a kind of confession, actually; an open and honest — willing — Freudian slip. There is nothing worse than dishonesty, than lies. If I dislike someone I will tell them, if I don’t respect someone I will tell them, and so on. It’s a cleansing exercise, writing, because it takes time and patience to turn thoughts and intentions into sentences and paragraphs, thus every action is deliberate, preplanned.
Of course this runs the risk of, if one is dishonest, creating a persona, a personality, through which one speaks. The way I write, for instance, is not totally how I speak — though it is often similar — yet the content is equal. Exhibiting reflection like this urges the second-guessing which would inhibit other endeavours or other people. Too few act instead of thinking, or, rather, let their thinking totally inhibit their actions. That isn’t an issue in and of itself — there are plenty of people who of course shouldn’t speak overmuch (hopefully I do not belong within that category) — but in our age of confusion the right people can miss opportunities, or the wrong people get them.
Writing — in fact any outward endeavour via the internet — will result in some sort of audience emerging, then you have communities forming around creators or content-producers, and networks are established. If I can speed this process along to some degree then so be it, and in fact, as I recently said, I might pull an Otto Weininger and end-up cutting things short, so it’s best to do all this whilst I can. (It’s unlikely but not impossible, regarding a Weiningerian end and myself.)