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I feel like I've been misusing this journal terribly. Hence why I've been having so much troubles writing in it these past days.
When I started it, I didn't do it to keep tab with my friends (not that I don't want to check on what happens in all of your lives), nor did I do it to write things about what happened in my days and give the appearance I was busy and human still. Neither did I do it for fandom related subjects really, not that I mind using it as such, but not for fandom as itself certainly.
I started this journal because I wanted to put there everything that made sense to me. Not the moments but the realizations they induced. Not myself, but the trapping of my Self. I wanted to use it to help me find the Narrative of my life. All the meaning I found in a day to day basis that could help me create my identify, act within it, reach for what I wanted for myself.
But as often happens we get trapped in the way, and lost in the labyrinth of what others want to see, and what we shall provide them so that they can see us. So we try to speak their tongue, and then we don't understand ourselves anymore, and then we're only speaking nonsense. And then we don't say anything anymore at all.
Meanings.
That's what there is in beauty.
Magic. Power. Wonder. That's why I want to write. That's why i always wanted to write. Not to escape, but to find what was mine in reality. To make reality mine. I mean, there's no sense to feeling alienated to this world. Everything that is in it, is in us. And everything that is in us, is in the world. Is of the world. Dreams, tales, visions, fears, beauty... everything that comes from us, comes from this reality, this universe. This nature, our nature.
That's the power of words, of art, of beauty, not to create things (everything is already in the world), but to name them, to isolate them, to set them in a frame, to tie them to each others, in a storyline that gives sense - order - to it. And to do so, repetively, differently, with the same basic stuff all the time. With the same bare stones you can build a million different castles and bridges and arches.
And they don't contradict each others. They're all true. They're all of the world. Because they have meanings to us. As I never found any contradiction as a child into thinking that the world was both created in 6 days and that the earth was billion years old. Why should I have ? Both truth belong to different narratives, different frames, but they have both their own uses, their own power within it. It's the same way I understand that a scientist could consider light as an onde once, and as a particule then for the resolution of two different problems.
And the world is big, is rich enough to encompass all of our different points of views narrating reality.
Power then. Power for myself - to become what I want to be, to set myself free of all I didn't want to be. We do that, don't we ? With the right clothes, with the right rituals, actions that we do and that we give meanings to, places that we go, that we live in to make our world. With the right attributes and aspects we give ourselves power to be what we want to be - or what we fear to be as often, much too often, we get ruled by this power, by our uncontrolled chaos within of fear and vanity and anger and self-loathing instead of using it. And we trap ourselves, and let the words of others trap us. While we could use it to free us so absolutly.
And power for others. To tie myself to others. To let them see. Because that's what i loved in books when I was a child. The power to become anyone else so that you could see what it was to be someone else. Without judgement. Without bias. Empathy was what I sook into books, that one gift that I prize above any other. Utopian in a way of me to believe that, to believe that you could really see, just in a books, all of the world through the eyes of others. Of course, the world is not there, you have to bring that with you, as a reader. But the track marks are. The Frame, which tells you where the beginning and the ending are, and the cuts of chapters between them. Putting the negative space in, that's what writing is. This framing blankness around the reality that the reader brings with, so that when they walk see it, it is them that connect the dots together, them who brings the vision forth, into their mind that the picture becomes alive. It's got so much more power that way. So much more meaning to them. And that's when they can see, when they can connect with you.
That's the answer for me. I was that weird child that nobody could understand, who found things, saw things in the world that nobody else could see. I was - I am - lonely because of it. But if I don't want to wear a mask to hide beneath, to fit in and walk on the same road as everyone else, then can I do less that give others the key, the password to translate what I say and let them understand me ?
And I haven't been doing really that, have i ? I got used not to expect people to understand me. Which was the great vanity of believe that I alone could understand them no matter how different they were and love them as they while they could have not ? How foolish was that !
But if I want to do this with that journal I have to do it entirely. I have to put the fandoms and the books, the thoughts and the daily reviews. I have to put everything that is me, so I can at least connect it, build it, make sense of it in a way that would, at last, help me create a narrative for myself. Make sense of me and the world for myself and for others.
And for that I need to cut, to cut from the chaotic mass to order it. To prioritize what I want.
As I've been living this past year under the sign of the Moon.
Who I am ? Everything I dream and wishes and fears to be.
What is illusory ? Everything I cannot make true by telling it the right way.
How do I make it ? By deciding. By picking a road instead of trying to walk two, a hundred, at the same times and not walking on anything at all. I can even cut my way across the bushes for myself if I want to, but I need to do it and to follow it wherever it leads to instead of keep retracing my step to find another path.
Once upon a time...
When I started it, I didn't do it to keep tab with my friends (not that I don't want to check on what happens in all of your lives), nor did I do it to write things about what happened in my days and give the appearance I was busy and human still. Neither did I do it for fandom related subjects really, not that I mind using it as such, but not for fandom as itself certainly.
I started this journal because I wanted to put there everything that made sense to me. Not the moments but the realizations they induced. Not myself, but the trapping of my Self. I wanted to use it to help me find the Narrative of my life. All the meaning I found in a day to day basis that could help me create my identify, act within it, reach for what I wanted for myself.
But as often happens we get trapped in the way, and lost in the labyrinth of what others want to see, and what we shall provide them so that they can see us. So we try to speak their tongue, and then we don't understand ourselves anymore, and then we're only speaking nonsense. And then we don't say anything anymore at all.
Meanings.
That's what there is in beauty.
Magic. Power. Wonder. That's why I want to write. That's why i always wanted to write. Not to escape, but to find what was mine in reality. To make reality mine. I mean, there's no sense to feeling alienated to this world. Everything that is in it, is in us. And everything that is in us, is in the world. Is of the world. Dreams, tales, visions, fears, beauty... everything that comes from us, comes from this reality, this universe. This nature, our nature.
That's the power of words, of art, of beauty, not to create things (everything is already in the world), but to name them, to isolate them, to set them in a frame, to tie them to each others, in a storyline that gives sense - order - to it. And to do so, repetively, differently, with the same basic stuff all the time. With the same bare stones you can build a million different castles and bridges and arches.
And they don't contradict each others. They're all true. They're all of the world. Because they have meanings to us. As I never found any contradiction as a child into thinking that the world was both created in 6 days and that the earth was billion years old. Why should I have ? Both truth belong to different narratives, different frames, but they have both their own uses, their own power within it. It's the same way I understand that a scientist could consider light as an onde once, and as a particule then for the resolution of two different problems.
And the world is big, is rich enough to encompass all of our different points of views narrating reality.
Power then. Power for myself - to become what I want to be, to set myself free of all I didn't want to be. We do that, don't we ? With the right clothes, with the right rituals, actions that we do and that we give meanings to, places that we go, that we live in to make our world. With the right attributes and aspects we give ourselves power to be what we want to be - or what we fear to be as often, much too often, we get ruled by this power, by our uncontrolled chaos within of fear and vanity and anger and self-loathing instead of using it. And we trap ourselves, and let the words of others trap us. While we could use it to free us so absolutly.
And power for others. To tie myself to others. To let them see. Because that's what i loved in books when I was a child. The power to become anyone else so that you could see what it was to be someone else. Without judgement. Without bias. Empathy was what I sook into books, that one gift that I prize above any other. Utopian in a way of me to believe that, to believe that you could really see, just in a books, all of the world through the eyes of others. Of course, the world is not there, you have to bring that with you, as a reader. But the track marks are. The Frame, which tells you where the beginning and the ending are, and the cuts of chapters between them. Putting the negative space in, that's what writing is. This framing blankness around the reality that the reader brings with, so that when they walk see it, it is them that connect the dots together, them who brings the vision forth, into their mind that the picture becomes alive. It's got so much more power that way. So much more meaning to them. And that's when they can see, when they can connect with you.
That's the answer for me. I was that weird child that nobody could understand, who found things, saw things in the world that nobody else could see. I was - I am - lonely because of it. But if I don't want to wear a mask to hide beneath, to fit in and walk on the same road as everyone else, then can I do less that give others the key, the password to translate what I say and let them understand me ?
And I haven't been doing really that, have i ? I got used not to expect people to understand me. Which was the great vanity of believe that I alone could understand them no matter how different they were and love them as they while they could have not ? How foolish was that !
But if I want to do this with that journal I have to do it entirely. I have to put the fandoms and the books, the thoughts and the daily reviews. I have to put everything that is me, so I can at least connect it, build it, make sense of it in a way that would, at last, help me create a narrative for myself. Make sense of me and the world for myself and for others.
And for that I need to cut, to cut from the chaotic mass to order it. To prioritize what I want.
As I've been living this past year under the sign of the Moon.
Who I am ? Everything I dream and wishes and fears to be.
What is illusory ? Everything I cannot make true by telling it the right way.
How do I make it ? By deciding. By picking a road instead of trying to walk two, a hundred, at the same times and not walking on anything at all. I can even cut my way across the bushes for myself if I want to, but I need to do it and to follow it wherever it leads to instead of keep retracing my step to find another path.
Once upon a time...