The first excuse of the absent blogger - Oh, you know, real life happened.
So your blog isn't "real"? It's just some bolt-hole within your mind that you conjure up whenever you can't be arsed dealing with what's really happening to you? It doesn't really exist, and all of what you write on it is just part of some twisted little game you're playing? Is it not worth all the time and effort that you put into it, and others donate to it? Why? Just because it's less tangible than any of your other activities, like - oh, watching TV perhaps? Yeah, like that's so real. So real that they even have to remind you that it's 'reality' that you're watching. Or, maybe it's not as real as 'reading books'. Oh yes, because poring over endless repetitions of five basic themes* which are only distinguishable from each because of marginal nuances of style and character and setting, in the hope that you will learn the answer to the misery that hounds your existentialist sorryass, is so much more real. Oh yes, bow to my bibliophilic snobbery. Cringe before my librarised brain. Validate me baby. Or is just not real because it's not in person, and because you're hiding behind some little facade-name that sounded cool when you first thought of it but which now seems increasingly....silly? Just because you can't see the people who read what you spill out, and who you communicate with, that make it all unreal? Makes it something you can just walk away from, without consequences? Just because you don't mean half the words you write means somebody somewhere might not take them seriously, or be affected by them, or be changed by them? Just because it's online? Well, fuck a crow, then it's not "real life" is it, it's "off-line existence". Because, buddy, you now exist on the web, whether you like it or not, whether you think it's just a phase or not, whether you think you're safe behind your carefully preserved pseudonymous little corner - or not. You exist. You blog. Okay you may not exist because you blog, but you blog because you exist. And your blog exists. Unless you kill it. In which case there's no question about what's "real", is there. Because it's gone, to be gradually shunted into the back corners of the consciousnesses that ever knew of it, only to be sometimes brought forward and curiously examined. Gone, like all the other dreams you had and thought to achieve, but which you never fulfilled either. Gone, like you will be too, one day, in your "real" life.
So, blog - or don't. Just don't whine about it.
* Love/hate, sex, greed, angst, joy
Labels: Some life