Language

I am half explicit, half subtle. I mix clarity of speech with vague allusions. Well articulated ideas appeal to me as much as self-directed comments that only I get. I am as pleased with grand pronouncements as I am with amusing myself in my own way. I'm happy to make myself chuckle and to serve as my own audience.

Clearly there is some psychological flaw that feeds this.

But that's who I am. If you've ever read one of my poems (and I hope you haven't), I'm sure you came away either mystified or irritated. I don't pretend to be good at poetry, but I get devilish pleasure out of writing it. It's like my other creative pursuits: my forays into sculpting and painting, my development of endless spreadsheets calculating heaven-knows-what, my attempts at writing fiction, etc. In each case, I'm delighted to be crafting, even if it's mostly for myself. This is actually my third blog, but I'm certain that I am the only one ever to have read them all. I don't write for others' benefit or consumption, but to satisfy some inner need to get something inside of me outside of me. It's like vomiting, only for clearing the mind rather than the stomach.

This time, I will not hide who I am and allow anyone to read. I will not say who I am, but I won't hide it. There seems to be some modern need to be a literary exhibitionist--to allow strangers to see your thoughts in print. It's a strange phenomenon, but I don't think we should apologize for it. In a world bent on political correctness--by which I mean self-censorship designed primarily not to offend and secondarily to communicate--I think it is important to have a forum, whether public or private, whether written or oral or other, to have a say.

I don't think bloggers have grandiose ambitions, but mostly want to be heard. Is it exhibitionist by nature? Sure. But more profoundly, it is autobiographical. It is like prayer--it is about self-discovery. But rather than being directed at God, the source of all knowledge and power, it is directed at other flawed, limited people. It's a petition to mankind to hear. And by being heard, even if we're misunderstood and unappreciated, we are defining ourselves and discovering ourselves.

So, this is language in print. This is my attempt to communicate something to someone. It's imperfect. It is sometimes dark and confused, sometimes noon-day clear, but it's something. I am explicit and I'm vague and ambiguous.