I have a thought, and I think, ‘Ooh, I’ll write about that; I need to SAY SOMETHING about THAT.’ Used to be, I would immediately get to some device and hold forth about whatever it was I was thinking and feeeeeeeeling. Now, I just wait until the urge passes, with the thought that comes, ‘No one gives a shit about what YOU think; no one is waiting anxiously to read about how YOU feeeeeeeeel.’
So, ironically, here I am, blogging about not blogging, writing about what I’m not writing about.
All these blogs. All of us longing to be HEARD. Shouting deafeningly into cyberspace with all the effect of a whimper.
My frustration and weariness grows with each waking moment…oh, but I am dangerously close to writing about how I feeeeeeeeel. ‘Fuck off, Autumn; no one wants to hear it!’ The thing is, it’s not so much that no one wants to hear it, it’s that no one is listening: there is too much noise. We are desensitised. And so, the good, the poignant, the profound gets lost with the bad. No one is listening. Thus, shout = whimper.
The word ‘futility’ springs to mind. But, forgive me; there I go again, frighteningly close to sharing a thought. And, perhaps, I only state the blatantly obvious. There’s the damn forest, the damn trees are falling all over the fucking place, no one’s there to hear them… you get the idea… or, maybe you don’t.
My friend Stevie Jones has a brilliant song about what we do here on the Internet. It’s better than any commentary I could or could not make…
I still have hope that music can carry a message to this world (damn it all, I just shared a fucking thought again; the art of not blogging is a difficult one, apparently). Artists have never been here to entertain you; we are here to make you feeeeeeeeel. So, who knows, maybe this little whimper will get through. But, I’m for sure NOT writing about it.