Well, this is the first post of my new blog, which this time doesn't even have a title I needed to think up, commit to, realise I've subconsciously plagiarised and start again. It's connected to a new website, which is a bit scary and weird. Still, I have no excuse for how long the words 'Coming soon...' have been sitting on this page, like a frozen movie trailer. The last post on my old blog, Strange origin was made back in April. But who's counting? Honestly, I'm interested. Why am I doing this again?
When I started writing Strange origin, I had time off work and study and my fingers were itching to tickle profound messages out of my keyboard and tip them into the bright void of the internet. I felt like I had a loudspeaker and I loved the vibration. This is why people write blogs, I realised. It's a dictatorship of one. It felt like absolute generosity and total selfishness at exactly the same time. It was wonderful. In times of doubt, I highly recommend hiding behind your computer and going shamelessly public.
Since then, though, I've established a much more thorough division between my thinking words and my feeling words, between words for others and words for myself. Maybe this is why I left the blog behind, because it's murky and in-between. Instead, I've written increasingly on paper, urgently, or not, sprawling great horizontal inflated lines that no one reads but me. But not that often. Life gets in the way, thoughts come out of your mouth instead and then why bother writing them down. I hate duplication. I want all of my words to be absolutely functional, wherever they end up.
So what is the function of a blog? I'm kind of wise to the conceit of it now. I still feel that loudspeaker feeling, but I've realised it's broadcasting on mute. There are so many blogs out there, so many words as pixels on so many screens. Posts feel like lemmings off a cliff, and I'm Sam Frost herding them all over the edge one by one, blowing them kisses and shaking out my silky ponytail in the wind (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you can get a cultural education here and here). I guess the hope is still that I'll be able to hear the words as they clatter to the ground, the echo of them, their dimension and shape, that they have presence. But this is the internet. There's nowhere to land.
Strange origin was ostensibly about Canberra, but mainly about art. Those parameters gave me some momentum, and made the reverberations easier to hear. I'm not doing that anymore. This blog is not about anything in particular, which despite the success of Seinfeld, I'm sure is almost always a mistake. I know it'll end up taking shape, and being something real, more than a testing ground, another knot to get tied up in. But I'm like a lovesick contestant on The Bachelorette. There's something so real and relatable, and well, deep about the publicly shallow. They just get it. At a certain point you have to be the cliché. I have a brand new blog, I'm musing on the internet and (for now) I'm loving it.