A blog is no joke they claim because it's public. Not something you can just pull off, writing to yourself whatever crap you want.
Perhaps a masculine thing to say. Both men claim this, one 40+ the other under 20 sitting on either side of me.
Don't over edit my highschool teacher said. A blog is not a novel. It's not over composed. Fresh and honest, it should be born of the present moment, not edited down to hardboiled fact.
Pennebacker has something else to say- writing therapy, the power of well-directed journaling for your self has the ability to transform cyclicly dangerous thought patterns into helpful reflection and redirection almost as if it were a form of meditation. Is meditation a publishable act? An act beneficial to the public?
I don't blog because I haven't in years, or perhaps because I am afraid of the stage to say what I really think, the limelight I have lost to years of indecency- a BA degree I call my own.
Perhaps I don't blog because of the increased shame of falsity at large. In my journal it is a bare-faced rant, with no audience but the ever-echoing universe I was born to. In silence.
The internet, rather full of creepers and curious and discontent overexcited young and old variously-opinionated crowds I am prone to imagine, not only imagine, but to speak to, in increasingly delusional tones of conviction.
Forget the audience, the unseen crowd which calls forth falsity along with forthrightness. I speak for myself, and yet I bear to the world and confess I do have an audience in mind. You my friend, are a person, read english, and hence a part of the current current of global affairs which sweep the mild, the meek and the shapers of tomorrow in one fell swoop of the wrathful Leela which proceeds, life.
Good luck following.
Perhaps a masculine thing to say. Both men claim this, one 40+ the other under 20 sitting on either side of me.
Don't over edit my highschool teacher said. A blog is not a novel. It's not over composed. Fresh and honest, it should be born of the present moment, not edited down to hardboiled fact.
Pennebacker has something else to say- writing therapy, the power of well-directed journaling for your self has the ability to transform cyclicly dangerous thought patterns into helpful reflection and redirection almost as if it were a form of meditation. Is meditation a publishable act? An act beneficial to the public?
I don't blog because I haven't in years, or perhaps because I am afraid of the stage to say what I really think, the limelight I have lost to years of indecency- a BA degree I call my own.
Perhaps I don't blog because of the increased shame of falsity at large. In my journal it is a bare-faced rant, with no audience but the ever-echoing universe I was born to. In silence.
The internet, rather full of creepers and curious and discontent overexcited young and old variously-opinionated crowds I am prone to imagine, not only imagine, but to speak to, in increasingly delusional tones of conviction.
Forget the audience, the unseen crowd which calls forth falsity along with forthrightness. I speak for myself, and yet I bear to the world and confess I do have an audience in mind. You my friend, are a person, read english, and hence a part of the current current of global affairs which sweep the mild, the meek and the shapers of tomorrow in one fell swoop of the wrathful Leela which proceeds, life.
Good luck following.
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