A brief review of the glabpage
I don’t think I’m a very good writer, both from a technical standpoint in readability and whatnot as well as in a mushier sense of “would I want to read this?” which is probably the one that frustrates me more out of the two. I read some stuff from the creator of Pinboard, Maciej Cegłowski, on his blog Idle Words where his tagline rang in harmony with an idea (I think from Cory Doctorow, but I’m not sure) that helped me decide to start this page at all: brevity is for the weak. Long form writing feels better to me than short form, though most of my communication with friends and online folks is still very, incredibly short in form thanks to its casual chatroom environment on Discord. I write things here and believe that I am practicing, when really I think that I am journaling at best.
The truth is that I have put very little thought into how I write, and though I read extensively, I don’t spend that time considering how those people write or how I could write better myself. I believe this non-critical approach factors into almost all of my consumption of media or art, and I think that it is potentially a product of a fear around having an interpretation, opinion, conclusion, or other form of assessment that is wrong about something. I can cope with this by saying that its a form of equanimity or something, but in reality I often recognize that I am periodically intimidated by those I consider to have good taste. Additionally, I find it difficult to hold simultaneously my conviction regarding the individuality and incomparability of an individual moment or experience as well as my desire to understand more objective quality and pursue it in the objects of my interest: writing, film, tea, whatever it may be in a particular moment. And what’s more, to try to balance this with a self-perception so brutally wracked with a need for superiority through knowledge that I’m only periodically able to put down in order to open myself up to new things… an image came to mind of a fool clinging to that which they are convinced is a beautiful rock as the tide comes in, yet from the surf they cry that they long to enjoy the beach like everyone else.
It occurs to me that I might have nothing to say, which is unfortunate considering how much I think, and more directly how much I think I have to say. Despite this, with my last post in mind, I did look up last night at the nearly full moon, nearly at its closest point. That shit rocks.