On blogging...my opinion is that it really is a personal expression of oneself, your days, your life, and your thoughts and a compilation of how you look at things in this great life. In our writing you can find what makes us individual, unique, and share opinion, likes/dislikes, sadness, happiness, loves, loves lost, and for anyone who might read my blog - purely random ideas and goofiness. Somehow every blog I read brings me a tiny feeling of closeness to the writer, it makes me realize that other people have other problems, other joys, and other opinions and I get what's written by pure, open, "REAL" people - an un-edited version of their life, if their honest. Im happy that I have found a blogroll of writers that interest me, and even challenge me to be a better me just by having the reality and in your faceness of other people's real lives. It pulls you from self-centerdness and self-indulgance, by creating a real story line right in front of you that someone so thoughtfully decided to share with anyone who happens to click on their blog title! In my case I have very few family members who read this blog, a handful of friends, and I have no idea how many strangers, and I could just as easily write in a journal privately... I think it's true to say that once we make the decision to pubically post a blog, and open it to friends, family and even possibly strangers, we are really exploring our ability to share, to open up, and have some sort of pride in letting them in on the good the bad and the ugly (if we dare post that too)...by the internet, emails, and blogging. But this post by Farbucks says it all for me. I couldn't have put it better myself. I cut and paste from his post:
You know...really....when I think about it, my blogging equals empty hot air pontification of the highest order and is really nothing more than rambling thoughts strung together with a purpose that seemed so clear when I began but became more cloudy the more I thought and the more I wrote...words and thoughts fading...fading...gone! into the abyss of totally meaningless drivel that was written at first to impress then maybe just to fake you out and finally finished without making any real point because all the points eventually merge into a flat geometric plane which goes nowhere but merely stretches itself out into eternity like a sermon that will not end, a song sung off-key, or a bird about to fly headlong into a clean window...maybe this whole exercise is just a totally self-centered-selfish-self-stimulation session in which I am just playing games with words hoping to impress colleagues or inform family or entertain friends and ending up doing nothing but just satisfying some inner need to be heard...be listened to...be admired for an articulate erudition which actually exists nowhere except in my own self-focused mind (like the image a blind man leaves in a mirror - it is there for everyone else but him to see) and which is actually being ridiculed in reality by the techno-wise few in our world who even know how to access this collection of random posts floating around the blogosphere...only being discovered by the odd click of a mouse or positioning of a cursor which causes electrons to align and transport the reader into the head of this odd-ball fellow blogger who writes for what turns out to be a God?Knows?Why? reason that not even *I* - the author, the originator of the thoughts - can properly explain even though all writers will secretly - when left alone in the suffocating time vacuum of 2am - admit that, indeed, verily, and in truth, all writing is really nothing more than vanity and wishful thinking and somehow imagining that we are impressing an invisible reader somewhere on this flat plane that we created out of serious points with words placed before and after each other in such a creative manner that we are sure, positive, convinced no one else on earth could possibly have ever thought or expressed this idea with such eloquence before I took my turn at impressing
