“ So kid what is this website you're maintaining? This... blog?”
“ You seen it?”
“ Yeah I read it every now and again.”
“ Well, it's a collection of paintings.”
“ Paintings? They're just a bunch of stories.”
“ No, they're paintings. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph is a brush stroke.. a burst of color. Interplay between light and dark – chiaroscuro. And the page itself is a blank wall where all of these paintings, all of these canvasses, hang for the entire world to see. To enjoy or to hate or to ignore or to piss on or what have you.”
“ Paintings of what?”
“ My life.”
“ Are they real?”
“ Yes... No.”
“ Which is it? They're either real or they aren't.”
“ None of it's true yet at the same time all of it is.”
“ OK Edward Nigma, what does that mean?”
“ It's physics.”
“ Physics?”
“ Conservation of energy. Those stories didn't just spontaneously generate. They came from somewhere. They came from my life... from my experiences. Converted from one form of energy into another. A cathartic metamorphisis of raw emotion, be it pain or joy, into an abstract collection of words that tell the tale of said experience... or any similair moment experienced by anyone under similair circumstances.”
“ I don't get it.”
“ Maybe I'm not explaining myself very well. I'm hungry.”
“ And you publish these stories for complete strangers to read?”
“ Who better? These strangers have no idea who the fuck I am. There are no preconceived notions except those I place on the page. No stereotypes except those I allow them to formulate in their heads. No boundaries except those I create for myself to adhere to.”
" Playing God?"
" No. I stay within the realms of the true. I cannot write fiction. I never could. Yet some of the settings are fictitious. The characters are real yet names are changed. None of it is chronological. Yet it all happened. What tale I tell depends wholly on my mindset... or what's playing on my radio."
“ Sounds fun.”
“ It is. You should start a blog.”
“ Nah.”
“ Why not?”
“ I ain't got time for that shit.”
15 comments:
So after all this time it would be interesting to let those who have read you see if they can read anything of you.
Include those who know you better as well.
Your stories truly ARE paintings. Much like the way Salvador Dali was inspired by Sigmund Freud's writings on the erotic significance of subconscious imagery. Much like Dali's paintings, your objects are juxtaposed, deformed, or otherwise metamorphosed in a bizarre and irrational fashion. I love it.
anonymous just freaked me out a little...
moving on, the revelations on this piece are wonderfully unclear, which is so you. yes, i'm so naive, i think i actually know about you a little.
your blog filled with intimate and detached stories, a collage of images waiting for interpretation. once they leave your mind, the images become ours...to have or ignore.
i know nothing about you, but if you weren't "around"...i know i'd be missing something.
you bring it to the table...to this feast of close-detached strangers. i taste it every time i come here to eat...but i still don't have a clue what the fuck it is.
is it you? broiled, then stirred.
(can you tell is lunchtime here?...I'm thinking sushi)
"You keep a blog?!?! You keep a blog?! What on Earth for?", I could almost see his eyes pop out: "Plop". Internet is for other things. Like dating. "Helps me unwind", I should've said. Instead I uttered "It keeps me sane, that's why."
the reasons why i blog and the effect it has to me changes everytime i write.
sometimes i am disgusted by what i write but thats because i am disgusted by myself then.
paintings, thats a good way of putting it. it s true. you do it very well.
lovely. i love it. good mindsex right on the wall there for me yah.
i soon realized that my blog is not for people that know me. very misleading. very confusing, very conflicting. so i keep another blog for those who know me. and never update really. it s just so much more fun to not care.
If my blog was a painting it would be just feces and vomit flung onto a canvas. I'd poke a syringe right in the middle.
I'm ever such the avant-garde....
"'Sounds fun.'' It is. You should start a blog.' Nah.''Why not?''I ain't got time for that shit.'"
Exactly.
Loved this one - parodied, took the piss, eulogised and depicted exactly what it is we do. It helped me answer a fairly constant question too - why am I blogging?
Cheers
Nice, when people just look at you or say something to the effect of "Why the hell do you do that shit?"
I love people. Really. I do.
Anonymous. You're freaking me out.
Exploring. If Freud inspired Dali then I suppose hopeless drunks, druggies, and romantics fuel my writings.
G.D. I indulged in a wonderful exercise today. I went back and re-read all of my posts from my first three months of blogging.
I've come to two conclusions... I was greater than I remember (now I'm horrible). AND I still don't know me.
Holy shit!
Brighter Death. Abstract... as in I really don't know what the fuck I'm trying to say... or perhaps I know EXACTLY what I'm trying to say.
Monsoux. It was just a matter of time before he went into one of those "you know, when I was a kid....!" tirades.
Piranha. People that actually know me think my blog sucks so I stopped giving them the addy.
Plus, it's so much cooler to "just not care" wouldn't you agree?
Desolation Angel. I'd still buy it though and hang it proudly on my wall.
Of course I'm a twisted fuck like that.
Jeckles. Exactly.
Ruksak. It's funny, my reasons for blogging have so drastically changed since the day I started this. BUT... the reason mentioned in this post has remained consistent throughout. To tell some good stories.
Aydreeyin. Or when they feign interest in what you're doing but in reality couldn't give a shit less.
O.K so why the fuck did you even ask me in the first place? Sheesh
It's interesting.
The tone in your replies reads differently than one I've seen you use before.
ha! memory trips are funny. i dunno, you're being hard on yourself. you can't be expected to be "on" all the time...that would make you totally one-dimmensional (not to mention boring as hell). i love the fact that you don't know who you are (or so you say)...leaves more up to interpretation.
it makes sense. we can be who we really are here. we don't need to please anybody as long as we write what we like (or "paint" the words to our heart's content).
at least strangers are honest. and plus the fact that they don't know you.
I bet you didn't even consider youself to be a true artist until you found this blank canvas to spray your thoughts, emotions, memories out onto.
We can only hope to motivate you enough to keep painting.
C'mon! Don't post a post about why you might post and then not post!
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