I struggle to blog because the things I find interesting can mostly not be expressed in pictures. Mostly they are not funny either, wry maybe, but not light.
I don’t really want to talk about what is out there unless it involves some sort of process that can internalize the outside into something meaningful inside.
I had coffee with my neighbour from across the street on Saturday. He is a songwriter. I told him about my conundrum. The one where I am trying to be interesting to the people that might be reading my blog, but not really succeeding, since I don’t have anything to say that can be read on the surface that can be understood in a sentence. I feel pretentious just writing that.
“I need to write though.” Was part of what I said. Bogging is the only thing that has been forcing that even remotely.
“You dabble in the internal world,” he told me. "Write about that".
Then off course I read this blog entry. And I realize that the only way I’ll get that good is by writing about what I love.
Which is the internal world, movies, books, people. Watch this space.
Comments
what you tend to view as valuable to exhibit and personally judge as worthwhile in - what you think - is the opinion of others all really boils down to a big display of self.