Erik (eriktrips) wrote,

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ready go

isn't this an interesting thing. an online confessional.

the publicness of the net fascinates me and seems somewhat paradoxical: anyone can read this, but will anyone come across it? to find it would require you to follow one of perhaps multiple but perhaps not terribly numerous trails of links through various pages all of which are somehow tangential to my own presence which is not really a presence but a trace here which really isn't a here. and of course my own moments, my own traces are tangential to the trails used to find me. negotiated properly, the net is nothing but tangents. but the point of all this seems to be to be nominally public in spite of the unlikely odds of a very large public actually reading it.

but now i am in the habit of leaving marks which aren't really marks here and there on the net and this has allowed me to feel as though my life is an open book. i really enjoy this feeling. i don't know exactly why, though. one point might be to show that the most idiosyncratic among us are in some way extremely unremarkable. here is a human life, very different from yours but not at all different from yours. i want to be exemplary but not necessarily in a glorious way but rather in a completely ordinary way which is in its own way glorious nonetheless. so really i want to be remarkable in an unremarkable way and it strikes me that this is what it is to be alive.

this then is day one. i just finished the autobiography of alice b toklas which may be why i am feeling inspired to write and why this particular place in which to write appealed to me when it did. i don't quite understand what is going on with journals that one keeps in one's bedside stand never to be seen but i can understand this public version however public it might actually be. i am not sure even so just what this sort of writing accomplishes, only that it appeals to me just now to leave a trace, an unremarkable trace, somewhere where it might be found.

i also like the idea of writing every day. i read about writers who get up at 5:30 every single day to write for a given amount of time and i think what a good exercise but the sort of things i am usually called upon to write are laborious things, close textual analyses that don't always exactly flow from a font of creativity best aroused in the early morning light. so this will be a place for me to do my own sort of confessional writing, which is what i do best, and see what comes of it. an autobiography as i go. i don't know what i will mention. i don't know who will see it. i don't know what difference it will make i only know i want to do it.

i have another autobiography called memoir. it is big and unwieldy and you will only find a small portion of it if you go looking for it. the rest is scribbled in a sketchbook in not very coherent order and i don't know if i will ever finish it or arrange it neatly on a page or several. in any case this journal thing is going to be different from that. memoir was written to relieve a certain anguish and i don't expect this to do quite that although all writing i think is done to relieve a certain anguish the anguish this writing is to relieve is a small almost pleasurable one.

so much for the preliminaries. this morning i went to the store to buy milk and on the way i could smell trees in bloom which always distresses me. i saw someone i knew at the store and stopped to say hi but then wandered off to the cereal aisle and immediately wondered if this wandering off seemed rude or shy or weird. i forget sometimes how to be social. i'm not sure i ever knew.

see the trees in bloom thing is that smells like that remind me of certain things. for instance, trees in bloom remind me that it gets warm and i really don't like warm. they also remind me of other things.

last night i stayed up late. this is unusual as i usually go to bed around 10 so i can get myself up at a decent hour to do work. i am always proposing to do work and sometimes i actually do it. this isn't work. this is play and i might have to watch my tendency to want to expend all my energy in play instead of work. i don't really know which is more important but just that only work is more likely to result in a situation where i can afford to pay back my student loans. as far as i know playing won't do that. it should. it really should. playing should be worth something but i guess you could never eat play although from what i hear we once lived like that. we. all who were an us once upon a time.

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