ghosts & admissons

A little Snapcase anyone? (looking glass self)

So surfing through some of my favorite blogs I’ve noticed a bit of a trend as of late, and I suppose it’s appropriate given the time of year. A lot of recaps of 2006/what’s up for 2007. I was considering doing the same but that would force me to reckon with a lot of what I spent the better part of the year avoiding. Furthermore it would require me to commit to something in the future, and nothing gets me down like obligation.

I went through my blog, post by post and came to the conclusion that it appears that I’m a) always sad, b) a little weird or c) hopelessly in love. So rather than counter these arguments and bore you with specifics (because we all know, no one reads this blog for an accurate portrayal of events) I’ve decided to describe it another way. I view this blog at times as independent of myself, I use a pseudonym, I convey emotion only in their most potent terms whether or not I actually feel them, and I draw heavily on themes that have nothing to do with whatever the hell I’m talking about. I like the challenge of reconciling my thoughts through beings devoid of emotion, its fun to depict events in terms of remote references that no one can relate with. Yet it works, I’ve talked to people who read my blog and they all seem to draw something from it, they search for deeper meaning and come to their own conclusions and oddly enough, they see something that they can relate to. Everyone’s got a little zombie in them it seems.

But the funny thing is as I look back and examine my own work I can’t help but see myself all over it. No matter how hard I try to distance myself from my writing, and keep an impartial attitude like it’s a science experiment or something, I identify with it. So is it that I too have been fooled by my own writting? Yes my life makes up the subject matter, but I always try to bend or manipulate it to the point it’s no longer recognizable. I fill it with reactions I am supposed to have to certain scenarios, but again they are limited to these posts. Outside this blog I express very little of what I profess to be so central to me. My imagination is larger than my own ability to manifest what it is I claim to feel. Perhaps I’m just bored of my static life. But one thing is for certain; it’s definitely sad to live vicariously through a fictional depiction of yourself.

posted by El Chupacabra @ 3:15 PM