My blog is whirling outwards and I feel the impending entropic collapse. I googled entropy for another noun, verb or variation and found the Entropia Universe. I haven't been to the real one yet. Only the one inside my own head.
For rather a while I've rationed my music and reading to give my own head a chance to think about something other than trivial mundanity. I have a shocking propensity for repeating whatever I last heard as if it were somehow my own marvellous creation.
I've come to a point of equilibrium. I don't own an original thought. I do just seem to express things that bloody bucket loads of people somewhere or other have just expressed (only better) and I have probably just crimped, cadged and cheated it from them, unless I happen to be an unwitting trendsetter.
You can glorify it by calling it zeitgeist all you like. I am torn. Every post I write, I find links to other blogs, books and clips that I am never going to finish getting through. Do I enrich my entries? Do I go back to ignoring others so that I have space to breathe?
I love the freedom (recently felt) of writing whatever I felt like without a fear. I've always been my own worst critic and I've stopped (am stopping). I pity my friends with blogs of note. I don't know if I would survive being overseen by anyone else. Luckily no one else is ever likely to read this.
Honestly, if school P&C meetings send me into a spiral of self doubt and loathing, how on earth could I ever want to write something for other people to read!
I have a sudden great sympathy for David Foster Wallace (1962-2008) and a wish for silence.
Right after I work out how to trackback my next post.
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