Taking the Time
It has been some while since I have settled into a chair, opened the pages of this particular book, and written something I didn't remove mere moments later. Even thinking about posting here caused me a pause, caused me to look over what had come before (two years past) and consider carefully what my purpose was.
Didn't take long to find it.
This isn't a journal, not in the sense of my needing a place to safekeep my thoughts, or some sort of rambling cry for internet fame; the first just isn't entirely honest, and the second gives too much credit to my vague imaginings that a wandering reader may find it to their liking and assign some value to it. I have other projects for that.
This scary set of would-be records are experiments in writing. They're attempts at crafting a voice, and use the life of the writer as nothing more than an at-hand material that makes the process go more smoothly.
What voice is that? I think that the title of the page and the cute little lines scribbled beneath it may give an indication. Every day is an trial of some sort, and every person should have the opportunity or the occasion to act as the adventuring archeologist to the metaphorical artifacts life leaves in its wake.
So I will write larger than might be needed, find the danger in the dull or the madcap in the mundane, for my own amusement and mental health. Or, I'll try in any case. It has been two years, and I can't say I know what tomorrow will bring.
I can not say what tomorrow will bring.
Boring or bedazzling, I do like that fact.
Didn't take long to find it.
This isn't a journal, not in the sense of my needing a place to safekeep my thoughts, or some sort of rambling cry for internet fame; the first just isn't entirely honest, and the second gives too much credit to my vague imaginings that a wandering reader may find it to their liking and assign some value to it. I have other projects for that.
This scary set of would-be records are experiments in writing. They're attempts at crafting a voice, and use the life of the writer as nothing more than an at-hand material that makes the process go more smoothly.
What voice is that? I think that the title of the page and the cute little lines scribbled beneath it may give an indication. Every day is an trial of some sort, and every person should have the opportunity or the occasion to act as the adventuring archeologist to the metaphorical artifacts life leaves in its wake.
So I will write larger than might be needed, find the danger in the dull or the madcap in the mundane, for my own amusement and mental health. Or, I'll try in any case. It has been two years, and I can't say I know what tomorrow will bring.
I can not say what tomorrow will bring.
Boring or bedazzling, I do like that fact.
posted by The Masked Brute at 11:22 PM
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