Than free association in the middle of the night in a somewhat public forum.
My wife keeps after me to blog and so I am blogging. Perhaps not wisely, but blogging none the less. I have a secret feeling it’s really just to get me to work on my website in some other way than f’ing around with php and css, which I do in hidden folders.
My dirty secret is an unwavering romanticism that escapes in three forms: food and drink, technology and writing. Food and drink are obvious, painfully so: I want to love you so I made you some nice bread. In the web world, I want to build beautiful apps that aren’t just glossy, but have a reason to be, a functional justification and add to a person’s connection with the site. In the world of writing, whether fiction, some kind of script or “the personal narrative,” I also want to build something beautiful, but I want to do something more. I want to create in another human being the experience I am having. My romance is to buy into the new age co-opting of quantum mechanics to avoid melancholy – so that the non-mass of my consciousness rubs up against the non-mass of yours. But then, a trip happens, not a vacation, but the stumbling kind, where you go over and hit the non-mass of the hardwood floors and you realize, again, it doesn’t take that much mass to really f you up.
What’s the point of all of this? Well, I’ve heard a million times that if you’re going to blog, your wife telling you to do it isn’t actually the best approach. You’re supposed to have a niche, something specific to say to the world. My niche then, is romance. Not roses and Jerry McGuire with Ben and Jerry’s. I mean something more Whitman-esque, something more Harold and Maude, something more Man of La Mancha, something definitely more Sophia Loren.
Let’s see how it goes.