This space is for watching
Every time I blink technology races ahead and seemingly makes my efforts over the years redundant. I now have flickr for my pictures and blogspot for my journal. I wonder why I persist with my old journal, simply some plain text written into the most basic of html files. Perhaps it is so that when people ask about my blog I can reply, smugly, that I do not have a blog, I have a journal. This is of course not true.
I think I have around eight or so blogs. A couple of them I created eons ago when I was filled with purpose and drive and then there are plenty more connected with various network portals and email addresses I still manage to have from years past. Sometimes I suffer from bloguilt, my term for having empty or abandoned blogs. They are never forgotten though. No, I always convince myself that I’ll write that killer entry just a bit later.
What narcissistic need makes us write this drivel?
Alright, what beyond narcissism drives bloggers/journal(ers?)?
Exhibitionism?
It is easier than that. The journal is a dangerous beast, an online journal infinitely more so. A vessel to contain all your innermost secrets and darkest thoughts about friends and enemies alike. Every nasty little piece of wretchedness, every single little bright ray of hope would be there for all to see. An online journal is a life lesson in responsibility, compromise and censorship. Having something so damaging for all to see, having evidence of every wrong-doing and dark thought where partners, parents, bosses, friends and enemies can simply flip through to find what you really think of them both past and present is little less than social suicide.
Your need to say something, to vent and yet to remain small and quiet? And anyway, who reads blogs these days? How many blogs can you read before you are blogged out?
I can only promise you seven less than nothing.
I think I have around eight or so blogs. A couple of them I created eons ago when I was filled with purpose and drive and then there are plenty more connected with various network portals and email addresses I still manage to have from years past. Sometimes I suffer from bloguilt, my term for having empty or abandoned blogs. They are never forgotten though. No, I always convince myself that I’ll write that killer entry just a bit later.
What narcissistic need makes us write this drivel?
Alright, what beyond narcissism drives bloggers/journal(ers?)?
Exhibitionism?
It is easier than that. The journal is a dangerous beast, an online journal infinitely more so. A vessel to contain all your innermost secrets and darkest thoughts about friends and enemies alike. Every nasty little piece of wretchedness, every single little bright ray of hope would be there for all to see. An online journal is a life lesson in responsibility, compromise and censorship. Having something so damaging for all to see, having evidence of every wrong-doing and dark thought where partners, parents, bosses, friends and enemies can simply flip through to find what you really think of them both past and present is little less than social suicide.
Your need to say something, to vent and yet to remain small and quiet? And anyway, who reads blogs these days? How many blogs can you read before you are blogged out?
I can only promise you seven less than nothing.
posted by an English Idiot at
10:10 AM
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