What shall we use
To fill the empty spaces
Where we used to talk?
How shall I fill
The final places?
How shall I complete the wall...
- Empty Spaces by Pink Floyd
Why is it that some of our most important moments get relegated to conversations over the phone?
I think the first time I ever said "I Love You" to any guy was over the phone. The first time I dumped a guy, it was over the phone. The last time I dumped a guy was also over the phone. Sometimes I think most relationships would die if it wasn't for the phone! I hate that. I think the next time I have something important to say to someone I'm going to wait and tell them in person, face-to-face. And I don't care how long I have to wait.
At the risk of sounding like a snob, I have to wonder how most people assume that they can write. Based purely on the assumption that if they fire out every second word from the dictionary they have lo and behold - a masterpiece, a magnum opus, a god of small fuckin' things! Nevermind the incoherent and pretentious drivel it may turn out to be, the rule is pile on as much as you know, pile on more, much more than your poor unsuspectng readers can bear to comprehend. In my opinion, only someone who really knows and understands the nuances of language will trim, sift and break it down. All the rest is bullshit. I live by these words of a true genius, Alexander Pope, "Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found."
When you create something, whether it’s a painting or poem or pasta, the crucial element is not how much you put in but how much you leave out. It makes all the difference between mediocrity and genius. My quest, if I can call it that, is to break down everything, down to its last shred. Shrug off anything I have ever learned, touched or seen, every preconceived notion I may have, and build up from scratch. That, I believe, is the only way to create.
When you're walking around in circles, can you really tell who's ahead and who's lagging behind? Does it even matter who came in first?
Of all the things I know about myself, there is only thing I wish I had never found out. And it's the one thing I never seem to forget.
All the scars on my body remind me of happy times. The ones I can no longer see are those that cover the wounds.
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9 comments:
ahh. ze Minimalist. one agrees.
well, you do sound a bit high handed! I agree some people don't know how to write. But, whatever their reasons for writing, whatever their writing skills, it is still their way of expressing. That's the beauty of blogging. But, you on the on the other hand have the choice of not reading it. Simple isn't it Ms.Snob(your own words not mine!)?
Thank you, I have never been called "high-handed"... I do like the sound of it.
Anyway, I was referring to "writing" and not "the beauty of blogging". Am I missing something here? I can't see any reference to blogs or bloggers in particular.
In case you are not aware, there is a world of writing out there apart from blogs, writing I happen to pay good money for and have every right to criticise. Yes, I have the choice of not reading it, but only for the second time. Once I read a piece of writing, I also have the choice of voicing my opinions. Comprende?
It does feel good to be anonymous, doesnt it ;)
This, brings me to a very interesting point. Fondly so. There's nothing to be read or written. It's all there. We just accentuate it with words. Some of us are superfluous. Some are precise and succinct. Words are only tools you know. You need few if you have the right ones. Yet, it's not the words i think Gia is talking about here. It's the thoughts that waste the words. The pretence of intelligence. Sometimes when you know your words are being voiced, you forego that fact that they'll make sense. It's that precise indulgence. The associated disappointment for the ones who read. Words are sacred for every writer. The vehicles of thought. Yet more often what is flawed is the thought that uses the vehicle.
Probe, you've managed to articulate beautifully in my comments box what I tried to say(and obviously didn't do a very good job of) in the post! :)
"vehicles of thought" is something I've used in an old poem, one that's not on the blog. What a coincidence!
Probe HAS put it really well. And I must say I'm sorry if I was a bit harsh and for assuming you were talking about blog articles. But, in my defense I must say that what you meant didn't come across that clearly.
And being anonymous for me is just synonymous with being lazy...I don't blog and I'm too lazy to link my photoblog...that's all.
Madhavi
I don't mean to nitpick but even if I did not elaborate much (the post is titled Random House after all!), I am clearly talking about "writing" here. You just jumped to your own conclusions :) Anyway it's nice to meet you Madhavi. I always wondered who it was from Massachusetts that kept checking my blog so often.
More than the blog I loved your response to the second comment (posted by the spineless/ball-less Mr. Anonymous)…..
So many of your thoughts and responses echo my sentiments.
Are you my soul sister??
You must know I have started caring for you and feel the urge of writing to you every day….just wrapped up my work (2;30 AM) still couldn’t fight the urge of writing to you.
Will mail you at length tomorrow.
Till then take care and be very very happy (for my sake)
Love you
Mist
Dear Dear Mist!
And I look forward to hearing from you!
But you must get your sleep girl - look who's talking :-)
Seriously, you work hard all day so you should rest well at night.
Do write to me, it's thecloudcutter at gmail.
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