and if my thought-dreams could be seen,
they’d probably put my head in a guillotine,
but it’s alright, ma, it’s life and life only...
Bob Dylan
...haven’t been talking much to people lately...at least not in much depth...though I’ve been having a lot of really deep, intense discussions with myself...
...that’s included trying to do some writing by hand every day...which is notable because I never, if I can help it, write with anything less than a full-sized QWERTY keyboard...don’t even get me started on how I can’t stand text messaging...and yet, I've found myself letting loose with some personal thoughts the likes of which I’ve never let see the light outside my brain...often painfully embarrassing, shameful...offensive to anyone other than...or, sometimes, including...myself...and, it occurs to me, the reason for this and the reason I don't normally write by hand might be one and the same...that what comes out is thoroughly incomprehensible to anyone but me...and, sometimes, to me, as well...thus eliminating the worry that, no matter how well hidden, someone might stumble upon and read it...and freeing me to write absolutely anything I want...
...of course, it could be decided...possibly after my death...like with William Blake, Emily Dickinson, or Henry Darger...that what I write’s important enough for scholars, handwriting analysts, or freelance pharmacists to go combing through the hieroglyphics...then, that might be cool...would make my unauthorized biographies a lot more interesting...certainly, people talking about how boring I am after I’m dead would be adding insult to injury...comb through my hieroglyphics, baby, comb through ‘em all night, dig into my present past darlin’, bring it all to light...then, I could also end up buried in intensely dull jargon filled written-for-no-reason-except-to-get-tenure scholarship...
BALD heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love's despair
To flatter beauty's ignorant ear.
William Butler Yeats, from “The Scholars”
...then, such are the perils of posthumous fame...probably better to be alive and obscure...
8 comments:
One benefit of deeply intense personal dialog with the self is that when in that conversation I know for sure the respondent understands the debate format.
Here's to posthumous fame; I now can spend my children's inheritance without care.
before listening to any other voice, we should listen to our own inner voice... and it's not an easy task... writing the thoughts the way you did is a big step toward listening to that voice...
want it to be more relieving and healing (and seemingly more incomprehensible)? do it with your non-dominant hand... you will be sruprised with the result...
just those who can listen to their inner voice can truly listen to other voices and understand them...
and don't care about obscurity... many well-known well-published people are the most obscure of all...
one who hears his/her own voice, is illuminated with such a light that never can be obscure... s/he permeates through souls and changes the whole world even through one single friend or contact...
see what i mean?
namaste!
I think our hand writing gets worse the less we practice it. But as long as your illegible hand works for you to both expound and conceal those things you just don't want to have out there, then good.
The one way to make sure no one digs through your stuff post-life? Burn it all of course. And that too, can be quite theraputic and symbolic.
Its great you're letting all that stuff get a little air though. Nothing is anywhere near as bad as you think it is...
Diaries are so important for historians and other scholars. Not just famous ones like Anne Frank, but think of the diaries of early settlers in this country. How it gives us insight to the issues of the day.
Keep writing. You could at least be someone's dissertation someday.
:)
Hi drjay...
Hmmm, now there's an idea of what to do with those fancy notebooks with pretty covers that I've been hoarding over the years..."don't judge a book by its cover" would definitely apply after I filled them with my innermost thoughts.
Might we have a glimpse of your writings some day on YFC? Okay, I'll mind my own beeswax...just a thought...
Dr. Jay - Alive is better. . . because obscure you are not. Keep writing! (I know you will). . .
I happened to be listening to a Billy Bragg / Wilco rendition of a Woody Guthrie Song. . . Another Man Done Gone while reading your post. I think it just about fits. I hope you like it. Here's a link to the lyrics
I used to love to write by hand, even though I type extremely fast. I think that just having a change in pace--and plus the fact that hand writing is so much slower, it can give you a different thought perspective than typing.
Unfortunately, I am no longer able to write by hand for more than just a few sentences. One of the battle scars of my addictive years was a huge abcess that developed on my right hand--it got so bad I nearly had to have my entire hand amputated. Anyway, because of the nerve damage that was done, I am unable to hold a pencil/pen for very long so I can't write by hand even if I wanted to. Interestingly enough, the nerve damage doesn't affect my typing at all--it's the gripping motion of the pen that I can't do.
Ha ha ha--I loved the picture you had at the beginning of this post Jay--it gave me a good morning laugh, which I could use today.
Take care--sometimes we need to explore ourselves on a deeper level, which it sounds as though you are doing now. There's a reason for everything!
Take care, my friend--
Melinda
I can so relate to this post, and am always pleased to see someone related to Mr. Yeats (one of my favorite poets) in one's blog...
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