i read you
I read – very little. I have almost completely stopped reading books. This saddens me. Books used to be such an integral part of my life. They were a means of escape from my corporeal life. Each book meant a dive into a new and exciting world. Now it represents time commitment. I start reading a book, then set it aside, leaving it to collect mounds of dust. Books have been replaced by blogs. I miss leafing through a dusty tomb. But there's something appealing about a blog. Each post is generally relatively short, and represents a much shorter time devotion. They're more easily worked into a busy schedule. In my recent reads on write.as, I've noticed a common sense of aloneness and isolation.
Here I go again, dumping my brain and pouring my soul for someone and no one to see. This is some kind of a semi-private journal for me. It's private enough for me to be able to play and be creative, yet it's also public in some way, which gives me some hopefully healthy validation.
From inquiry:
But to what end? What's really being accomplished? Especially in the blogging case, i.e. minus evidence of specific others having read – let alone experienced the aforementioned hypothetical time-delayed mind synchronicity?
From Rye Meetings:
I don't believe I incite such a response, or at least I haven't yet. I know (mostly) at the end of the day I'm a decent person and if people don't interact with me it doesn't mean that I am an alien invader freakshow.
And those are just the most recent posts from the past few days.
To virxen, inquiry, Rye Meetings, and anyone else who feels like you're in your own blogging world, there is at least one person (yes, that's me) out there who reads you and enjoys you. You're not alone.