| LIFE IN A METRO - ... |
Saturday, 28 July 2007
In Dinon...
I know - long time, no post. No excuses. Just fell sick and then fell in a funk. However, I'm back to my normal self now and will hopefully be posting more! Here's a song which has stuck itself in my head these days.
Sunday, 8 July 2007
the long and short of it
Save one, I have not really written any long post here.
Why? Because my longer pieces dissolve into self introspection, self aggrandizement, self neurosis, self speak, self this, self that… and something within me does not really like this, not in the context of words meant to be shared.
Writing meant to be shared should be devoid of the writer. Fading into the background, the writer’s words should strum the shared experiences; the writer should cease to be, letting the piece become the heart of the matter.
No, that doesn’t capture the essence of what I fink (feel + think) either...
Yes, of course the writer cannot write in a void. His experiences shape much of what she writes. Her interactions, the interweaving of her life with those around him is what gives her or him her or his voice.
What I mean is that I, a beginner, a somewhat unskilled novice really as far as writing goes, do not know how to gracefully fade into what I write. I am unable to dissolve in a way that makes the subject that I’m talking about and not my self become the focal point.
Of course there are books, articles, poems, autobiographical in nature. But then I am neither wise nor mature enough, not to mention a dearth of article-worthy experiences, to attempt that!
Poems… yes, perhaps. However, they leave me exposed. Though, something a friend said does haunt me now - “All art exposes the artist.”
So where does that leave me?
It leaves me trying to find my balance between what I write and who I am becoming.
Why? Because my longer pieces dissolve into self introspection, self aggrandizement, self neurosis, self speak, self this, self that… and something within me does not really like this, not in the context of words meant to be shared.
Writing meant to be shared should be devoid of the writer. Fading into the background, the writer’s words should strum the shared experiences; the writer should cease to be, letting the piece become the heart of the matter.
No, that doesn’t capture the essence of what I fink (feel + think) either...
Yes, of course the writer cannot write in a void. His experiences shape much of what she writes. Her interactions, the interweaving of her life with those around him is what gives her or him her or his voice.
What I mean is that I, a beginner, a somewhat unskilled novice really as far as writing goes, do not know how to gracefully fade into what I write. I am unable to dissolve in a way that makes the subject that I’m talking about and not my self become the focal point.
Of course there are books, articles, poems, autobiographical in nature. But then I am neither wise nor mature enough, not to mention a dearth of article-worthy experiences, to attempt that!
Poems… yes, perhaps. However, they leave me exposed. Though, something a friend said does haunt me now - “All art exposes the artist.”
So where does that leave me?
It leaves me trying to find my balance between what I write and who I am becoming.
Thursday, 5 July 2007
Random
On Snowflakes: "That all the sighs drifted up the sky, gathered into clouds, then broke into tiny pieces that fell silently on the people below." - A Thousand Splendid Suns (Khaled Hosseni)
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Sometimes I wonder if any human being really knows what goes on inside the heart of another?
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Sometimes I wonder if any human being really knows what goes on inside the heart of another?
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