The Budget Voyeur

Do you, don’t you love this little world?

Fake, sure. Somewhat fake. As fake as people can be. Eclectic, disjointed, misguided, foul-mouthed, angst-riddled, thoughtful, earnest, smart, frightened, crazy. It’s everything.

I’ve already gone off my track.

I love to look into other people’s lives-

sometimes.

Sometimes I’m glad when they switch the focus to the news, or a bad joke, or a large bottle of booze. It can be uncomfortable to see past the barriers that an utter stranger will usually throw up between themselves and people that they know in ‘real life’.

I know why you often don’t show what you write to people that you really know. It betrays the personal truth. All the thinking and over thinking we do, you know, someone in real life can walk right in on you, like the dreaded voices in T.S. Eliot’s ‘Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ with their denouncement, ““That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all..”

Hullo? I was having a moment here you insufferable boob, you wayward nincompoop.

When I read a certain someone I actually know who is blogging, it’s passing depressing. I long ago stopped being able to see that person in the way they like to present themselves to strangers. And that’s sad. The magicalness is gone.

But me, here, is probably more me than I could ever be with anyone, as far as honesty. As far as voicing my thoughts as they come to me. So what’s true?

I’m an exhibitionist, when I write. I want to touch. I want to be touched; I want to produce evocative words for the cause of resonance. Words that might pertain to some emotion in you, and send you riffing off to your own words, like a ripple effect.

I want to extend a certain mystery, and then reveal, reveal a sliver. Something to take away with you.

When I’ve supercharged my life with emotion, I come home sad. If I can pass on to you some meaning, it doesn’t render me naked so much as grant some companionship during the twisted up corners of my life.

The blank page is a lonely idea. So I wanna see, sometimes. It’s my brain, being the semi-permeable membrane, sometimes letting a stranger in. Sometimes allowing the personal nature of a person to speak to me across distance.

But that separateness is just as important. To click the x, to be able to shut it all down and escape to the laundromat, to refuse to write for days on end when the mind is in committee and the whatever that perches inside my chest has over-extended itself. Intimacy is sometimes dependent on distance-

We brush up against eachother here, accidentally…
and whatever meaning that evolves therein, draws a life from pure coincidence.

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6 thoughts on “The Budget Voyeur

  1. A) Thanks for that nice comment on bibliomom’s recent post.

    B) Can I quote you on this? Hmm. I’ll have to explain what I mean in another venue. I think once I’ve explained, you’ll see how high of a compliment that is.

    C) My RSS is munged somehow or other and I didn’t get notified that this was new. Arg!

    D) I’m not commenting on the Kermit thing. I already own a video of that so I didn’t need to watch it here but being reminded that I own it was pleasant.

  2. I relate to this post in a very personal fashion.

    I’ve been working on commenting on this for 15 minutes. I’m not sure if it’s the effects of the wine from last night or just that there is so much to say about something you wrote so well about. I’ll let the effects of alcohol wear off and I’ll try again later… maybe.

  3. Bongo-
    a) um. you’re…. welcome? She wrote the good post that inspired comment. Let’s thank her this time, and then we can write to the guitarist of Arrowsmith and thank him for something. How bout cumulus clouds…

    b) yes. because you and sirius black taught me a happy angle on luck.

    c) Seems like I should make a commiserating expletive here. Snarfblaggits!

    d) Ok. Be that way. But commenting that you aren’t commenting is very much kind of like commenting. *nods*

    biblio- I know just what you mean. Sometimes I wanna say something, but like with Bongo’s posts, sometimes I’m a little too brain fried and overwhelmed by the end to really know where to begin. Glad you liked, though. ;)

    aMmAr- Thank you! That’s lovely of you to say.

  4. Pingback: Thinking out loud « Bountiful Healing

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