There is a problem inherent to my writing. Perhaps it’s inherent to yours. What I refer to is the ever-present question, “is this worthy of words?” Every thought must stand up to scrutiny if it is to become an article. More often than not, it doesn’t. Reasons for this vary. Sometimes, the idea isn’t developed enough. It could be full of regrettable holes. Other times, I might think it’s well-trodden ground with every argument already expressed. In this case, I must either justify why my contribution would offer something new or scrap it entirely. For example, Trump is so thoroughly drowned in conjecture that any additions on my part may as well not be.
Regardless, I was able to justify my Trump article because I saw insufficient discussion on the desensitising effects of over-criticism. I understand it’s flawed, as everything I write will be. What does it matter though? This blog is insignificant. These are not earth-shaking decisions I make concerning literary worthiness. The only reason I have this writer’s anxiety is concern that one day these words may come to represent me. The number of dead users on the internet may one day outnumber the living. This little blog is essentially my tombstone. I want to be proud of the scrawlings that deface it.
It’s almost an act of arrogance to write, thinking you have something special to say. If that’s believed, it becomes much easier. The self-righteous don’t fear their writing lacks integrity. In turn, they don’t lack writing & it fills our eyes like compost on a patch. Perhaps I ought to be more arrogant then. There is a chance, after all, that I’ll have contributed something. Monkeys & typewriters.
Right, I think I should say something positive to close this out. Follow your dreams? No, that’s physically impossible. Follow your heart? Possible, but not without surgery. Have a nice day? Possible, but having a nice day is a tad possessive. To own a day implies ownership over a large span of time. If that’s the case, what does that entail? Do you own the spacial constituents of this time frame? For 24 hours do you own all the stars, planets & beings within each? If not, what does ownership of that timeframe even mean? It’s like owning a timeshare of literal time; easy to buy, hard to get rid of. You’d also need to define what the quality of ‘niceness’ in reference to a day entails. In the case of not being entitled to any elements of space, you could apply any quality to this useless commodity to no avail. So I suppose we have to make the argument for why ownership of a day also entitles you to ownership of space within that day. With my limited physical knowledge, space & time are irrevocably intertwined; one cannot be had without the other. If this is the case, the ownership of a day implies ownership of its spacial constituents. Now that’s quite a good deal, if not a recipe for absolute corruption should anyone achieve this saccharine-sweet gift of mastery over time & space known as, “a nice day.” Therefore, I wholeheartedly wish against you having a nice day. I like you too much to see you more corrupt than my original Spanish copy of, “The Brible.”
Ah! I’m writing more already. Thanks for reading.