I read the internet. I’m supposed to care. Or react. Or feel inspired. But I don’t. It could be apathy. It could be that I’m in the wrong place. * * * I’ve been doing a better job shutting off lately. The move into this little house has helped. Before, the screen was something more. A portal?Continue reading “Misplaced”
Writing — that good, automatic type of writing that I haven’t experienced in years — is like waiting for a bowel movement.
This site is more a museum of me, my posts like exhibits behind panes of glass.
Sifting through my digital detritus
some rare moments of light
of the weight
I wish to escape
Combined, our imaginations shape and create these places, now more than ever.
Just because I follow you on X, Doesn’t mean I’ll follow you on Y or Z. If my internet is composed of many rooms, Why on earth would I want the same people in each one?
I’ve paralyzed myself as a result, and created a visual space that accommodates just one mode — a single version of me. I’ve left little room for experimentation; I’ve promised a certain experience for my readers. Or maybe this is all in my head, and I overthink things.
Maybe I just need to shut up and write.
I’ve been wondering what to do with this blog, and I’m leaning toward creating a static front page, pointing to category collections and posts I’m proud of — and moving away from the blog format completely. Preserving the best moments of me, with my posts acting like exhibits in a museum.
I guess, deep down, I do enjoy the labyrinthine-ness of the web. I complain about feeling left behind. About not knowing the best ways to do something. But I’ve never really been someone who expects — or wants — to conquer each minute of the day, to be some kind of marvel of productivity.
Sometimes I envision my Twitter feed as rushing water: my presence is a dam, and each tweet is debris making its way downstream. It’s now a challenge to let information simply flow—to let tweets swim by without me seeing or interacting with them.