Monday, May 12, 2003

The art of blogging. You have your personal blog, your funny blog, your bitchy blog, your online journal, your war correspondance, writing samples, job seekers, online interactive music pages, writing to ease the pain, writing to exist, writing to fill the day, writing to cause pain.. so many various types and forms, its boggling. You really can't even find all the blogs that are out there, in their shapes and forms, but have to travel page by page, link by link, and read all the communications that people have decided to type and post online.

All fans of the Universe know that I usually stick to the "tell a funny story, keep all identifiable information away from internet perverts" rule of blogging. Perhaps all those stupid tabloid reports about the dangers of the internet that Barbara Walters does somehow found their way past my conscious knows better mind into the subconcious fear of internet perverts mind. Its in Freud, I think: conscious knows better vs. pervert fear.

However, I have recently found myself humbled by thinking I was the center of someone else's entry on their own webpage, and rudely posting a comment about it, only to be told it had so very little to do with me.

So I have been wondering.. egomaniac? narcissitic? blinded by the trees and not seeing the forest? Perhaps this "center of the universe" joke has become an attitude, a way of life, snuck up on me and so integrated that I cannot escape the feeling that all things everywhere are secretly about me. Dubya went to war just to piss me off further, the economy is in the shiter so that I will know better than to quit my oh so boring but secure job, and those damn cigarettes are expensive as a secret sign that it is time to quit.

Right.

However, I was wrong and had to be told so, for assuming (an ass out of u and me, how could I forget) where I shouldn't have. And that leads me to a further point- I hate the internet for making everything dangerously personal. What if those few lines you read somewhere sometime really are about you, but in a secret code and between the lines? I found myself angry and passionately defensive because I felt that I had been unjustifiably a part of something that had never even been discussed with me. It was like reading a eulogy for the death of something I made without knowing it was dead. Someone else made up their mind about it and finished the argument without even telling me there was an argument ocurring, or so I thought. Humble fucking pie.

And the life lesson I draw from this? If I have something to say to you, I will. If you have something to say to me, speak up. Keep your damn insecurities out of my blog and I'll do the same for yours. I post and publish to mark my existence in this world, but I have rules, and from now on, I will assume that you do to. This is of course, directed to no one in particular, as per my rules of blogging and should not be taken in any way as a personal or confidential message to anyone in particular, but really, its a comment to the world in general. Talk to me. I'll talk to you. Its what we have mouths for.

I am the center of the universe after all. What I say goes.