You know, I used to write beautiful, evocative things online. I really did. I've been writing words on the web in a modality that's now called "blogging" for damn near fourteen years. In those early years, I talked about my first marriage, about my farm, about things I saw around me.
They were gorgeous little self-contained essays that would have made my high school and college professors proud.
Reading them now -- hundreds of them (which you actually can't easily do) -- I feel glad and sad at the same time. Jeez, I was an opinionated motherfucker, a great thrower of the perfect phrase, a libertine and a literary cad. I think most of you would recognize my 1997-2000 voice as the clear kin of my 2006-2011 voice, maybe even stronger. I will collect all those hundreds of little vignettes someday soon and organize and publish them properly.
Thing is, these last several years, instead of writing online as a way to show other people just how good the world can be, I find myself whipping out the Ronco Pocket Taser and trying to tell people how to keep the world from chewing their nuts off. Yeah, you girls, too.
Prior to about 2003, my writing online was mostly, "hey, take a look at this!"
After then, it's been mostly, "hey, this is totally fucked up!"
I don't know why it changed.
I don't think I have.
But then again, I'm reading my own brain entrails to try to figure it out, and there they all are in raw HTML.
All these years later, years that saw the loss of real-world friends, family and nearly every one of the people in those pre-blogging days who dared to write about their own lives on "the internet," I can still hear my voice. A few others seem to hear it; fewer still seem to care. And really, if I was listening to me, I am not entirely certain I'd either listen or care, in a world where flatulence from Katy Perry outranks Supreme Court decisions.
Just... there was a time when even daring to write about your life was a dangerous and frightening act. Few of us did it. Almost none of the pioneers of that dangerous era are left.
I sure as fuck miss the danger. I want it back.
1. Joerg Michael06/13/2011 06:25:27 PM
Ya know, actually ... I come here regularly hoping you'd returned to your old blogging ways. I'm sure many others do as well. C'mon, you know you've got lots of stuff to say!
2. Turtle06/11/2011 10:54:40 AM
Yeah, well, I hope you die a comical death involving self-fellation, so I guess we're even.
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