Part 2
Albeit I don't post as often as I would like, I do like LJ. I also have come to enjoy the posting partly friends only, partly not. I know no one really reads this ANYWAYS except those on my friends page, but those few who do stumble upon this, can see what I am up to both through what I am saying. [...and through what I am not...] Makes an entry more of a poem, when what I do not talk about is just as important to the drivel I ramble with.
When I think about it, what I don't say is more important. When I make no sense to anyone. When I am making reference only I understand to things I withhold.
My blog is floundering. Why? Well. I don't care. Yep. I liked the blog, it had nice a nice set up, simple and pretty. But. It became a Livejournal without the community. It was...a public diary. And I had nothing I could say. Besides. A blog is not Livejournal by another name [...would smell as sweet...] but rather where you put things of interest for public consumption. It's a showcase. A popularity contest. [A lot like how some people see Livejournal...social networking]
Brings around the question. Again. What is the purpose to this site?
Unless you are a close friend, why would you care who I am dating? What I am doing? What I am thinking?
And if you ARE a close friend, you would know already.
I suppose. Social Networking.
[...floundering?...]
But. Why social network? I have friends. Not that i wouldn't like more, but...why would I go out of my way to find more. I'm loyal. To a fault. [...yep...] I don't know. It seems shallow to me to go find new friends online. Like I am bored with the friends I have so am looking for [shiny] new ones? Like the internet, LJ is a popularity contest. [losing thought....gone]
Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I would like to post my thoughts on something and have 50 comments on it from people I know. Maybe it is because I lack the...popularity?...I am cynical of this system.
Am I the only one? Doesn't anyone think it weird to spout out stuff for people to read, when if they knew you well enough to be hearing your rants, they would do so in person? Perhaps that is my problem. I don't write for others to read[and yet I always do], I write to figure out my own things.
And I do enjoy that. I think myself in circles [right round baby, right round], every time spinning a bit closer to the heart of the matter, figuring out a little more myself. Only through writing can I discover what I am actually thinking.[...for godsake!] Cyclical cynical contemplation.
Perhaps this is what my stepdad meant when he said over analyzing everything. Not necessarily looking it over too much, but returning to things and reviewing them over and over.
[...hell spawn...the unreliable narrator...]
Then again, perhaps I have picked up the inability to focus, so I jump [tangent] and so write so I can come return to a point two paragraphs back and show how it connects. [Interconnectivity] Is there such a thing, that runs from one idea to another? A single thread that brings my scatterings together?
Love?[Hate]
Suppose thoughts born out of emotion. Disdain for those who actually live by that I mock. [Lies!] Jealousy? I once was jealous of those popular online people. The ones that people are always excited to see in chat rooms, or joyed by comments from. The person that just seemed cool. [Jealous?] No. I tried to be that person. I wasn't cut out for it. I couldn't live the lie it required me to be. i was always too me, not enough...facade. I couldn't hide behind my text to say what people wanted me to say in order to be accepted. I never settled [only once] I decided to become observer rather than leader[?]. Not because I didn't want to lead, but because I couldn't be fake enough in order to be liked by everyone. [New moral to this story?]
Perhaps I am too tired to keep a thought when I end up writing here.
We all repress somethings. I wish I could remember how I explained that. Wish I cared enough to prove my point.
[...absolution...]
I've been reduced to snippets of thoughts now. Not even thinking in full sentences. Perhaps a good time to end this [theme].
To be continued...
When I think about it, what I don't say is more important. When I make no sense to anyone. When I am making reference only I understand to things I withhold.
My blog is floundering. Why? Well. I don't care. Yep. I liked the blog, it had nice a nice set up, simple and pretty. But. It became a Livejournal without the community. It was...a public diary. And I had nothing I could say. Besides. A blog is not Livejournal by another name [...would smell as sweet...] but rather where you put things of interest for public consumption. It's a showcase. A popularity contest. [A lot like how some people see Livejournal...social networking]
Brings around the question. Again. What is the purpose to this site?
Unless you are a close friend, why would you care who I am dating? What I am doing? What I am thinking?
And if you ARE a close friend, you would know already.
I suppose. Social Networking.
[...floundering?...]
But. Why social network? I have friends. Not that i wouldn't like more, but...why would I go out of my way to find more. I'm loyal. To a fault. [...yep...] I don't know. It seems shallow to me to go find new friends online. Like I am bored with the friends I have so am looking for [shiny] new ones? Like the internet, LJ is a popularity contest. [losing thought....gone]
Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I would like to post my thoughts on something and have 50 comments on it from people I know. Maybe it is because I lack the...popularity?...I am cynical of this system.
Am I the only one? Doesn't anyone think it weird to spout out stuff for people to read, when if they knew you well enough to be hearing your rants, they would do so in person? Perhaps that is my problem. I don't write for others to read[and yet I always do], I write to figure out my own things.
And I do enjoy that. I think myself in circles [right round baby, right round], every time spinning a bit closer to the heart of the matter, figuring out a little more myself. Only through writing can I discover what I am actually thinking.[...for godsake!] Cyclical cynical contemplation.
Perhaps this is what my stepdad meant when he said over analyzing everything. Not necessarily looking it over too much, but returning to things and reviewing them over and over.
[...hell spawn...the unreliable narrator...]
Then again, perhaps I have picked up the inability to focus, so I jump [tangent] and so write so I can come return to a point two paragraphs back and show how it connects. [Interconnectivity] Is there such a thing, that runs from one idea to another? A single thread that brings my scatterings together?
Love?[Hate]
Suppose thoughts born out of emotion. Disdain for those who actually live by that I mock. [Lies!] Jealousy? I once was jealous of those popular online people. The ones that people are always excited to see in chat rooms, or joyed by comments from. The person that just seemed cool. [Jealous?] No. I tried to be that person. I wasn't cut out for it. I couldn't live the lie it required me to be. i was always too me, not enough...facade. I couldn't hide behind my text to say what people wanted me to say in order to be accepted. I never settled [only once] I decided to become observer rather than leader[?]. Not because I didn't want to lead, but because I couldn't be fake enough in order to be liked by everyone. [New moral to this story?]
Perhaps I am too tired to keep a thought when I end up writing here.
We all repress somethings. I wish I could remember how I explained that. Wish I cared enough to prove my point.
[...absolution...]
I've been reduced to snippets of thoughts now. Not even thinking in full sentences. Perhaps a good time to end this [theme].
To be continued...