What are blogs nowadays, anyway. A private document that floats in the public domain, a Capitalist manifestation within the narcissistic psyche. David remarks on the seeming impenetrability of my postings, which probably explains the disinterest of the readership. Lucidity is apparently a crucial factor to understanding and usually enjoyment of the text, but the view is too simplistic and reductive, I think.
I love texts that elude easy comprehension, despite the effort involved. The way they manipulate the language is like handing you a ball of ice, the words slippery in their meanings and where you could only grasp at the edges, or for that matter, slide over the edges. Meanings are delayed or linked to obscure matrixes which leaves one wondering whether they mean what you think they mean, although that is the point here. Interpretation relies on the reader, not the writer.
Instead, one reads any text as though caught in the undertow, where the currents drag you along and eddies grab at you from all sides. You feel for the flow, the hypostasis of the entire river, and enjoy the sheer thrill of the ride while it lasts.
It is not often that I get all this silence to myself, where the only sounds reverberating off the walls of my mind is my voice. Everyday, thoughts assail me, none of which is mine, insofar that I feel myself alienated from my own mind. I was barely holding on to that delicate and remaining thread of sanity.
Thank god for holidays.
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