An explanation.

It's always struck me, until now, that blogging was something horribly self important and pretentious. Much like writing a note on facebook, or creating a livejournal entry (does that count as intertextuality? I do love a bit of intertextuality), making a blog was just another way of blathering on about the mundanities of your day, or manifesting some kind of semi passive aggressive plea for attention. The act of placing private feelings into a public forum, by default, seems to imply a wish for them to be taken heed of, and paid attention to. And if that's your thing, fine. I just think sometimes, that a stunning lack of awareness is present on the behalf of those who glorify in writing their every activity or emotion. I think that because I do the same, and I often recognise the feelings written about so often in myself. Which in turn, leads me to think why should I, in all honesty, give a fuck about what you've done when its as simple and common as what it eventually boils down to?

But today I altered my view, (as made evident by this even actually existing). Perhaps instead of the fault lying with others, it's mine. Or at least, it's shared. Understanding what people are really thinking and feeling is uncomfortable, but only because everyones so afraid to say what they truly have operating inside them that such openness is seen as unusual, while in my stupid naive and romanticised view of things, I'd like to see it as the standard.

I'll admit to hypocrisy here and now, on a massive scale. Not only am I hurling my innards into the ether in such a familiar style as thousands of others, and all in the hope someone will care, but I would also admit to being the biggest culprit of this kind of well-intentioned fraud. It's only through the pseudo-anonymity of the screen (because, to be honest, the only people reading it will probably be those who know me) and the cold removal of having to take in reactions that I can be true.

And so we get to the point, and the purpose of me starting this.

I am not always a well or happy person, and I would tentatively call that an understatement. I do not believe I operate or think in the same way as the majority, and in a way, I hope that's true because if to be normal is to feel how I do sometimes, the world must be filled with people who are fucked.

But in an effort to try and allow a way in, here is where I want to have no boundaries or restrictions. This will be full externalisation of the internal. Chances are it won't be pretty or fun a lot of the time, and I still feel a little like I'm becoming part of some machine which indulges in self pity and only pauses to congratulate itself but I'm ignoring that right now, and trying to negotiate with myself about the validity of me doing this. I intend to make this known only to a select few, chosen on the basis of how much they mean to me. They are the people whom I feel have only my best interests at heart, and so I want to hide nothing from them; it feels like it would be doing wrong by them if I did.

I've just realised: The fact I've gone into such paranoid depth about something as simple as this kind of says all you need to know, really.