Writing

Through my experience I've found that there is almost always a "proper way" to do everything. A paper should always start with a thesis and end with a conclusion. Even something as benign as cooking has its own progression; recipe, preparation, cooking, plating. Even blogs I'm sure have a way they should start. My query is then.. What happens when you do know what it is you are trying to accomplish? I'm not sure I have a beginning or an ending.

In my childhood, I despised writing. It was so individual and non formulaic, I could see little to no reason to work to improve it. Now, as I sit here, depleted and empty, I find that my fingers strolling the keyboard searching for thoughts is relaxing. I don't have to defend myself to anyone, don't have to prove myself to a soul except myself. I don't have to worry about the fact that I have no idea to what ends I am attempting to write. Is it reprieve I seek? (Me thinking to myself) I doubt it. Generally when I feel down I resign myself to sulking internally, while displaying bitterness and a casually flippant attitude to my surroundings. Today though is slightly different, things have not been going my way, yet I'm not really sunk very deep. I just sit here listening to music.... and writing. Whatever it is writing means.

Perhaps writing isn't even the proper title for this entry. Writing tends to carry with it this connotation that I am trying to accomplish something. That isn't really the case. I'm not making lists, I'm not talking about the pomegranate I ate yesterday, I'm not sharing the ideas of my current art project. My fingers are simply being carried away by music. Perhaps then, all of this language is nothing more than the workings of my subconscious mind. Hmmm? No, I don't like that idea either, it implies too much, as if there is something deeper going on. I don't feel as though I'm opening up some grand new mental pathways. I just wanted to write.. I saw the word blog written somewhere, and it occured to me. Why not blog? (Once again, that was rhetorical) I mean, everybody does it, to no apparent end. These quips will just wind up on some server out in cyberspace, where most likely my eyes, and mine alone will be the only reader.

I could branch off into some sermon about the impersonal nature of the internet, or the oddity of writing to myself for no reason. But I won't.. For no other reason than I don't like to patronize. And I didn't start this thing, whatever this thing is, for some politcal or social cause. I just felt like typing. And type away I shall. Maybe I might just type until I don't feel like typing anymore, which at this point may be never. I just feel like talking.. about nothing.

So much of my days seem to be spent talking about things of substance: politics, global warming (or lack there of), the economy (sad at best), music, religion, the news, daily happenings (or the absence of them). When do people ever just take the time to talk about nothing? I don't mean in the sorority girl sense (no offense to all the sorority girls who won't be reading this). When do people just let their minds roam, float through their heads like a sea gull riding the wind at the beach. Allowing their mind to feel the ebb and flow of the surroundings. The green plant sitting in front of me, the Netflix DVD at my side, the buring candle from IKEA. To a random individual these surroundings might suggest random Capitalism, but to me, they are the comforts of my familiarity.

I wouldn't say any one of these items carries any significant importance, I don't have any memories with them, and will probably not recall thinking of them fondly, even a week from now. For now though, they offer some strange semblance of comfort and home. I can just fall back into the sound of the music and my armchair and forget that the world is hard. There are no get out of jail free cards; and second chances when you can find them are definitely not given but are earned.

Sometimes I think the world would be so much happier if everyone would just take the time to find their inner peace. (Now I'm thinking... wondering if such a place exists, even for me who proposes it) I think I do have a place like that, but to describe it would cause me to lose it as my own, so for today at least I think I'll keep that one a secret. Even from myself, the sole reader of this piece of cyberspace. Not because I like keeping secrets from myself, but because this little echelon of comfort is one that I'm not sure I may ever get to again (even though I hope that isn't the case), it may as well be the farthest corner of Tibet for now.

Death Cab For Cutie is playing write now (for posterity's sake). Its their newest hit, "I Will Possess Your Heart". And though it is overplayed on commericals and the like, it has a nice rhythm and is prodding my brain forward through this mental entaglment of starting with no starting point, and ending with no ending point.

I'm starting (comical.) to wonder if even I'll want to read this later. (Probably not..) Because, and this goes back to the beginning, I'm not writing to a particular end. I'm really just venting without having the desire to vent. (What a strange concept..)

I just took a break to check my gmail, not that I thought I would have something in my inbox, but because I find it comforting to check somewhere in the vicinity of 50 times a day, just for the heck of it. I guess you would say it is my own little guilty OCD pleasure.

This entry into my "blog" seems as though it is starting to get a little on the lengthy side. So maybe, for today, I will actually cut myself off with the thought that I truly have more to say about nothing. In the same way that Jerry Seinfeld had mulitple emmy winning seasons of a show that was truly about nothing. Probably about as much nothing as this has been. Becasue in the end, even talking about nothing, is still talking about something. Because as Seinfeld showed us, even in the nothingness there is humor. In the silence, there is laughter. And in the most mundane of cafes, there are soup nazis.

For today. So long.. And maybe I won't write about nothing everyday. But certainly I will return here frequently to share my thoughts or my absence of thoughts with this little piece of cyberspace reality.