everything is a copy, of a copy, of a copy
I've been thinking about why I write LiveJournal entries. Now a days I might be more comfortable throwing stuff up on Twitter or FaceBook, but this is where it started. Some (in retrospect) creepy gay guy from CyberSphere gave me an invite code maybe hoping I would post erotic stories of bisexuality. Whatever, his reasons where his own. Originally I didn't use the service, but with much poking and prodding (ZING!) from the aforementioned creeper, and having just read On Writing by Stephen King, I started posting things. I had six comments before I learned that there was an ability to comment. An ex-girlfriend posted a comment telling me I was beautiful and then a few posts later a comment about how I made her cry. I read these comments within seconds of each other, it was... odd.
That changed things oddly. I mean, I knew I was being observed, in a back of my mind, but feedback, that was a rush. So, unapologetically, I started writing for an audience. I say unapologetically because I was writing to strengthen my ability to write. If not to improve my, still abysmal, grammar and punctuation then to get a better idea of how to put words in my head onto a page in front of me. But really, I wonder, was it just because I had gotten the attention (for a moment) of an old ex-girlfriend.
I can remember having an online crush on an emo girl who lived in Washington. Ironically, it was a post trashing emo kids that drew her to me. I still grin when I think of when she got herself a real boyfriend and I was crushed. My true embarrassment comes from me bitching to one of her friends about this guy and how silly it was for her to have such strong feelings for him so quickly. Shaina was right all those years ago, I am a hypocrite.
I can remember quite often in California sitting down at the computer and crafting a post hoping, once again, that some girl out there would find me witty and engaging. The same old bait on the same old hook. Never turned out well, without a backspace key I wasn't anything like I pretended to be. So, I think I can say that no matter what the desire to be heard and spoken back to is at the heart of this whole thing. I read people's posts and it seems like I'm listening to them talk to me. I think that's why I noticed a long time ago that my comments tend to be about how what a person's said has effected me or reminded me of instead of about them. It's a common enough behavior.
At the heart my question for myself is a place like LiveJournal. Why I am here making this post in an almost dead community? My friends list looks like three people playing leap frog, but I still come back here. Is it because I still hope to be heard? Is it because I'm hoping that I won't, but I need to pretend that I will? Is it just because some thoughts need to get out and 140 characters won't always do it?
I honestly don't know.
That changed things oddly. I mean, I knew I was being observed, in a back of my mind, but feedback, that was a rush. So, unapologetically, I started writing for an audience. I say unapologetically because I was writing to strengthen my ability to write. If not to improve my, still abysmal, grammar and punctuation then to get a better idea of how to put words in my head onto a page in front of me. But really, I wonder, was it just because I had gotten the attention (for a moment) of an old ex-girlfriend.
I can remember having an online crush on an emo girl who lived in Washington. Ironically, it was a post trashing emo kids that drew her to me. I still grin when I think of when she got herself a real boyfriend and I was crushed. My true embarrassment comes from me bitching to one of her friends about this guy and how silly it was for her to have such strong feelings for him so quickly. Shaina was right all those years ago, I am a hypocrite.
I can remember quite often in California sitting down at the computer and crafting a post hoping, once again, that some girl out there would find me witty and engaging. The same old bait on the same old hook. Never turned out well, without a backspace key I wasn't anything like I pretended to be. So, I think I can say that no matter what the desire to be heard and spoken back to is at the heart of this whole thing. I read people's posts and it seems like I'm listening to them talk to me. I think that's why I noticed a long time ago that my comments tend to be about how what a person's said has effected me or reminded me of instead of about them. It's a common enough behavior.
At the heart my question for myself is a place like LiveJournal. Why I am here making this post in an almost dead community? My friends list looks like three people playing leap frog, but I still come back here. Is it because I still hope to be heard? Is it because I'm hoping that I won't, but I need to pretend that I will? Is it just because some thoughts need to get out and 140 characters won't always do it?
I honestly don't know.