Every so often I need to do this, to have a bucket of ice water thrown at my face to awaken me from some sort of slumber, whether conscious or no makes little difference ultimately — in fact, nowadays I seem to be able to realise when there is a miasma shrouding my senses, and although it might take a day or so, I can wrestle my way out of it eventually.
What I am listening to currently:
I have been thinking about West Coast Reactionaries as of late, spurred in-part by James deciding to leave the project. It also hit me today that almost everyone with the exception of five or six people has basically left the project, whether out of disinterest, personal rifts or something else. I feel responsible for this, as my laissez-faire approach has ultimately left the project directionless and ultimately formless.
When W.C.R. was starting-out it was animated by mine and Andrew’s distaste for the white nationalist milieu and our desire to explore something more intellectually and spiritually fulfilling. As time went by, we eventually did find that something: the Christian God and His Church. Although we do not speak much anymore (something I regret), I feel that there is an implicit understanding between myself and Andrew, even considering our personality differences. I am glad to know him and to have involved myself with the blog that would become W.C.R., though the blog’s original function for myself and Andrew is not really applicable. So, what is next?
I am not totally sure. I can diagnose the issues with the blog from various angles, I can criticise content on it, I can correct contributors and whatever else, but writing for me is something I need to get back into.
There’s that cosy cliche, isn’t there, of the cute, introverted girl who spends all of her time reading obscure fiction, writing on her blog on dust-addled Summertime afternoons and pondering silly relationship troubles. There’s also the one about the intense, nerdy guy who is always searching online for some truth to the point where it intrudes in his daily life and complicates his regular activities, culminating in some personal epiphany and the cliffhanger of his future. James tells me about the one where the nice boy down the road, who works at the local family-run cafe, goes home to water his window-ledge pots and flowers, before checking in with his online friends to share notes on some historical masterpiece they’re all curious about.
We can romanticise all we like, but it is important to bring things into our forevision because, when I, for example, get down to it, my life is profoundly dry and unromantic. And you know what? I am desperate to change it. I have been for years, but it seems to’ve been a thought I suppressed after the age of sixteen. Long Summers with her come to mind. Just days laying in bed together after the morning spent skateboarding with my best friend. Stupid nicknames and habits and smiles and lipbites. I’m deeply terrified of these memories because they remind me how creative I can be. How happy I can be. How carefree I can be. Nowadays I am addled by a perpetual and neurotic stiffness. When I was a boy I wasn’t like this. Is it maturity or is it paralysis?
I would like for my life — and therefore my projects — to bloom once again. When I started with W.C.R. there was a glimmer of it, of naive excitement and thirst for potential. The taste of energy and optimism. Good grief… listening to Circa Survive brings it back to me. It’s the motion — such motion! And there comes the icy hand, back around my face and pulling me down. “Don’t get excited, Adam. Don’t take the risk.” Somebody please kill the bastard. Put him out of his misery.
Alex has suggested moving in together. Maybe that would be it? A catalyst? A change to shake-off the dirt around me which has accumulated? I will be heading to church in the morning to inquire about baptism, also — maybe that’s it? I am desperate now for air before I go back under. Gosh, I can see it coming. In two days from now will I have forgotten this feeling? Forgotten these thoughts? Slipping here and there, baseless, upon sand. (Something fresh.)
W.C.R. cannot become some strict ideological podium. The light of personality and emotion has to be breathed into it. Even if it became a strictly theological podium, it is a blog, not a church. It simply would not be appropriate. It is an organism with members; a head which directs moving parts via will and intelligence; not a stadium in which is proclaimed some “doctrine” in and of itself. I will need to speak with those who wish to participate to hear their thoughts. I’m not a leader of a community — a “seer” at best, to use a term of Alex’s — but I do not have the will or passion to reshape the blog as I see fit. I need to establish communication with my fellow members prior.