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Disclaimer: I do not promise either to defend or to explain any of the contents of this journal. If you know me, you might be able to guess what I'm talking about. If you ask, I'll probably tell you, but no guarantees.
This journal started out as a real secret, meant to be accidentally discovered by anyone bored and obsessive enough to click through my friends-list and find it. Security by obscurity, accumulating cryptic poem-entries quietly so that people would have something to stumbleFor she so loved the world,
on. Doing so felt naughty, daring, exhibitionist, trusting to the internet what was previously only safe in closely guarded paper journals. I'm not sure why I thought it was a good idea.
That was two-and-a-half years ago. In the intervening time, I claimed the journal was a secret, while quietly hinting to people that they should friend it. I screened all comments, afraid that people might actually be reading it, but secretly wishing people would comment and say they had. That the poems here weren't terrible, the sentiments expressed weren't utterly irrational, or perhaps that they were. But the sentiments were buried, names obscured by pronouns repeated and overused to confuse the reader, unless the reader already knew the answers. And I tended towards melodrama, tended towards unhappiness — the words here were no indication of my life situation, or even my happiness. When people dared break the silence, they never asked the right questions.
I spent a long time in school, and it trained me to the point where I couldn't think in my own head anymore. I had to think on paper — my internal dialogues needed be written down, so that I could remember the entire thought process as I'm thinking it. And they must be memorable, so that, when I go back to look at them, they evoke something — the feelings, the state of mind, the trauma that was being sixteen and living at home, something. I used to think it was arrogant to keep a diary, to believe that mundane thoughts were sufficiently valuable to be preserved. My life isn't that exciting.
Of course, I gave up on much of this later. I have another livejournal, wherein all of the mundane details of my life are written up in plain prose for maximum conversation value, where I can easily measure my worth by the length of the longest comment threads, the number of people who read and comment on the journal. But that's talking about your life, that's not keeping a journal. If talking about your life goes elsewhere, what does that leave to put here?
In my paper journals, I wrote spells. They weren't meant to be spells, but they were words that shaped my state of being, wrapped my mind in them until my story and their story were the same, modeled my actions on their metaphorical interpretation of the world. I spent high school spiraling into my own mind, creating notebook upon notebook of words that, to this day, evoke it all again, because they invoked much of what was in the first place. They form a rich backdrop for all of my thoughts now, tangled in self-reference and personal mythology. In my mind they were more than poetry, and they shaped my world by shaping me — to this extent, maybe I believe in magic. And it was the first way I learned to share my thoughts, before humans befriended me and taught me I could trust the world outside my mind.
So this journal is a lot of things. There's recent poetry here, of various kinds. Much of the poetry is terrible. Much of the poetry is merely diary entries in the form of poems, because I can only think on paper, and apparently electronic paper will also do. If you want to know what's going on in my life, ask me, or read my other journal. If you want to know what's going on in my head — or, subtly different, what I think is going on in my head, you can try to decipher these. Some of the words are just words, but many are words that have strange resonances in my head, words that I think are beautiful.
There's prose here, too, prose about the poem-world, about life-in-my-head that's distinct from the things that happen in reality. Ideas about the real world that swing closely bound to ideas I never expect to be able to explain. There are futile explanations here, too — like too many people, I am afraid that no one really understands me. Perhaps it's a fallacy to think that I will instill understanding through explanation, but I can't know until I've tried. Perhaps at least I will succeed in understanding myself, using prose-words as well as poems to create some kind of sense out of the world.
The policies here are straightforward: On my end, I'm friends-locking things that talk too much about emotions or real life, things I suspect I shouldn't trust to the internet after all. If you can read it, it's because I've decided you may. There aren't any filters right now. If you do end up reading this journal regularly, friend me, so I know you do. If you ask me nicely, I'll probably friend you back. If you don't understand an entry, ask me what it's about before assuming. It's unlikely that real announcements of major life-happenings will show up here, although they might have ripples here before and after.
Comments tend to be screened, though not all of them are. You can comment, but you don't have to. Some entries are public, but increasingly many are friends-locked. Entries are numbered, so it should be quite apparent if you can't read something. Things often get backdated or otherwise manipulated so they don't show up on friends pages when they happen — it's often worth checking the page itself for new items. After all, bad poetry and innermost secrets should be offered, not inflicted. This is also the rationale behind the cut tags.
I give you my trust, with apologies for its burden.
September 17, 2006
that she gave it her only begotten child, herself.
ashes, badly-kept secrets, beautiful chaos, contemplation, dancing in the rain, destiny, dreaming, dreams about dreaming, enchantment, fairy tales, glass tears, hollow unicorns, ignoring reality, illogic, invisible wings, magic, mirrors, nostalgia, participatory joy, patterns in stone, rain, silence, spells of self-control, sunsets, total internal reflection, watching words form
[livejournal.com] appending-doom, areyououtthere, ashsong, blaketh, ccommack, crystalpyramid, fiddledragon, fump, magidnaywards, meanfreepath, miraling, mumbly-joe, orawnzva, rose_garden, sildra, ssomna, tenrith, think-too-much