I've avoided blogging--and its ugly step-sisters--to save myself the potential embarrassment inherent to saying anything in public. Mistakes revealed in whispers, or hid beneath layers of hard-drives and paper stacks are easy to keep private. Life is like poker, the idea is to seem like you know what you are doing at all times. Keep it up long enough, and people start to believe you--or so says Machiavelli, a man who, with a cigar in his left hand and seven/deuce in his right, would have you believe he doesn't smoke and is sitting pretty with a couple of ladies.
But alas, i grow weary of charades. What i think and how i feel are in motion, and motion is part of being human. We're not all pith and vigor, and i've come to terms with the fact. So what if what i think today will seem childish tomorrow; who cares? Not i, at least not any longer.
What am i going to write about then? I haven't the faintest. I'm sure my reasons for involving myself in the social anomaly we call blogging are reminiscent of everyone else's. There are times we like the attention, times we want to discuss, or times we want to communicate something exciting. So long as things are kept in right proportion, i can't foresee any dangers. All in all, blogging is useful for someone who finds writing a natural mode of communication.
the K. H.
"Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd
By ear industrious, and attention meet:
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage."--John Keats
1 comment:
"perhaps I consider myself an intelligent man only because all my life I have been able neither to begin nor to finish anything." Here's to beginnings.
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