I’ve been stalling this for way too long, that also might be an understatement, because stalling something for more than five years doesn’t seem like stalling, it seems more like wrapping something up and hoping it never shows it’s face again.
‘Then why now?’ you might wonder—or not, I’m trying to make reading this crap as immersive an experience as possible since we are so easily distracted (I might be speaking for myself here) anywho, there’s no simple answer to this because of course, the very thought of starting to write something is a complex process but if I had to pick one, it would be a combination of two things:
. and Bojack Horseman
I just completed the first half of the last season, and I saw Diane struggling to even start with her book of essays, I thought it would be easy for her since that’s literally her job and she also seems to know what she wants from her book. Seeing her struggle made me feel like a voyeur looking for some sadistic satisfaction out of her failure to express, it was cathartic to say the least.
I, on the other hand, do not have an iota of an idea as to what i want from this blog, why I want this blog and neither have I been writing any thing for myself since the wake of my self-awareness, which is a fairly recent development.
There’s no good reason for my procrastination per se (is there ever?) but I seem to believe that the reason for my holding off on this, is that I am not a good writer, not because I can’t string coherent sentences or words together, or I don’t have a good vocabulary or whatever language apparatus one needs in order to be considered ‘good’, I am just too self-aware to not feel my rationality melt into nothing to give an impetus to my imposter syndrome to rise as I edit everything to nothing. It’s an exhausting debacle and I’d rather live like a nonentity than to constantly face the fact that ‘’You are your life, and nothing else” as Sartre puts.
So the fact that I’m here after a long haul just probably means I’m a masochist, it’s not that deep unfortunately (or fortunately)
I don’t know what this is and I’m not too worried about it, I’ll just keep writing about clichés and between them. Cliché is a marker, or a sub, for something we aren’t sure how to express. Regardless of whether the message is pre-printed or one we resort to keeping in touch with ourselves, clichés show up where words fail and I’ll use that abject failure of language as an excuse for my mediocrity.