Just Because I Don't Know How To Write

I have been reading and learning that perhaps writing is not my medium of choice. See below. I write like those that I read, those that I read are translated from french, sometimes german. I read a good deal of philosophy as well. I haven't picked up a fiction that wasn't translated from Russian or German or French for nearly a year, I think...don't hold me to that though. The current "for pleasure" books which I am reading are both nonfiction works on economics. Yes, I am a super dork. You got me (but I do ride dirt bikes, so hah machismo that) My writing i plagued with large prepositional phrases, my favourite part of speech I think. I am not journalistic in writing by any means. I like stream of consciousness with somewhat flowery language filled with visual imagery, the way I think. Mumbling, stumbling, rambling with a hint of brilliance or insanity either one works....closes enough to genius I think(hope?).

I thought I had some talent for it, writing that is. I can never seem to let loose though, when faced with an assignment. I think, maybe due to some level of insecurity on my own part, I must throw all the details of my knowledge out to reader. To toss out the buzz words with the buzz issues. I adopt the language of the age, the terms the vocab as they might say, and certainly do not talk about these issues in concise terms. Part of it is my need since high school to demonstrate the capacity of my knowledge when challenged. With a background in science, you also feel compelled to toss out all the fundamentals, because you have must demonstrate the level and depth of your research to destroy someone who challenges you. It doesn't quite work like that in real writing. Real writing here, because there is something so worthwhile in writing, something deeper, something that can strike the soul and can stimulate debate or at least conversation/ thought, the principle aim of anything worth reading. It is all about making the reader ask the questions that matter of themselves. It is all about the questions, and the attempt, the essay, to answer them.

I have written three things of note. An essay on football, the sport I played, that forged lifetime friendships and destroyed my body, a eulogy for a coach and a good man and an essay on how technology is ruling our lives and dehumanising us. Well, they got published, but whatever. I write poetry. Why? Just because. It sucks, or so I think, but how much is ever meant to read, dunno.

But, still I write. Why? Again with all these damn questions. I write because I must. Simply put, it is something I must do. It isn't a choice really. I have the bug. It has grabbed a hold of my soul (r maybe something else) and won't let go. If someone reads it, thank goodness and bless your soul, if not, I know I wrote it and thats all I need. The act and the product.

And just because I am writing and I want to say this. I was watching TV, yes, something I rarely get a chance to do, and I was flicking through the channels or was I flipping, no matter, but I saw on one of the sports channels something about hooter's girls. They were doing swim suite shots and interviews etc. And my first thought was, would it not be terrible to take that girl out to dinner. Yes she is pretty, I guess, but not really. She is so fake looking, so made up, so commercial. Put some shrink wrap on her and she would be a barbie doll. Why would you do that, make yourself a spectacle to the masses, just a body with a pretty face. There is no depth. Call me what you may, but I need, must be able to talk about things with someone. You know the things that matter, like books, music, movies, ideas, dreams, aspirations. You notice when they do interviews, they never ask those poor girls "What do you think?" . It is always, what's your favourite sport, sexual position, favourite part on the opposite sex's body. Why not just objectify yourself further. I don't know, thats just me.

I recall something I read once, Jane Austen in her brilliantly poignant insight into human relations...a comment made to Elizabeth Bennett by my boi Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy..."it is the liveliness of your mind." Aptly put my dear sir. That's what it is about, hands down the liveliness of the mind, not skin deep beauty(play Temptations song here...), give me that over any hooters girl. It really is more worthwhile/ important to be able to talk about the things that matter to see the world to experience it all with open minds and hearts and clear sight, to be able to discuss, to see, to write, two individuals moving together in the same direction. Not saying beauty is a bad thing, no no. Beauty is a good thing, but a face alone is worthless, its that thing behind the face that is most amazing and perplexing, fascinating and truly beautiful. I don't want to get into the idea of puzzle pieces or fluid ideas of relationships, of which I prefer or believe in the latter. It more about the "they hand in hand with wandering steps and slow,/Through Eden took their solitary way." says Mr. Milton. Nothing to add to that. That is it. Is it unattainable. I hope not, I hope not.