Almost a year has passed since I drafted a new entry and not a single day went by where I didn’t thought of doing so. The writer’s block seems to be nothing new or fatal in the world of a writer. However, just like debutantes are being strictly educated in matters of etiquette and morals before they enter society, I equivalently declared my own duty or obligation at minimum to meet certain requirements before I publish any scripts.
For I am weary of finding no anchors in the web. Its the era of the 2008s and 2012s that is regarded as imperative to reclaim back, a time characterized by originality. But how do I approach this sensational scheme of mine in a SEO and AI dominated architecture? I’ll have to go against the tide of the black-and-white-0-and-1 dataocean. Let’s find out what that might look like.
Immediately this standpoint is being imposed on me: How can I write without being pretentious? The methods of the masses prove themselves excellently, if my purpose was that of pure sterilisation. But it’s brighter than that.. It is a matter of taking up past questions that where long time forsaken. It is a matter of a sense8-esque connectivity of individuals and worlds in their distinct dimension of dreams and arts. Capturing, dwelling and ever roaming only to continue the cycle all over again. It is about fostering humanity with natural resources and that may not be enormous but it is enough by all means.
So I went to seek guidance of the all too often reliable helper, the library and flipped through several pages of books of journalistic nature. Thus I found formulas and recipes for the perfect blog post or the ideal review. On the face of it, a highly reasonable activity one would think to themselves! But to hell with being reasonable. Under the surface there lies the dilemma: Do I really want to distort my own free creating with premoulded thoughts and structures, since sprouting and sprinkling of hazy ideas is something very idiosyncratic to me? Yet how does one talk about things, if all spoken word is distorting everything truly real since language is just a construct, an insufficient attempt to depict reality? How can I ever write without ever losing authenticitiy? I am surprised by this literary soulperfectionism of mine. Let’ get further to the bottom..
Speak in sooth and lose the truth
And it troubles me. It hardly troubles me since writers precede one: they are observers by nature. Yet the most beautiful observed phenomenons can’t be conceived in speech without losing their beautiful effect. They unfold their literal magic in the souls of the observer – and not in twodimensional letters. The highest and most beautiful things are tacit in their appeals.
It’s like anything that is being transfered from the inner to the outer is losing its intensity and originality, as if this immense perfomance costs a high price, a kind of loss or wear. Because this finite world could never allow infinity taking refuge in her arms. Perhaps its the tranformation process from the supernatural into the natural world. Comprehensible, for we prevail under her laws, mother nature. And ultimaly we don’t live in a kind of Hex of our cerebral dreams.
Science is dead.
What I really wanna achieve is originality in a world that is dead; vastness in world that is narrowed and defined; multidimensionality in a world that is so singular driven.
Glimmer of hope
Words might be imperfect, yes, still even if they are never able to convey the essence of a matter, they are our bridges. They allow us to transfer magical moments into the cosmos of other natural forces called humans. Words eventually don’t need to be perfect, just sincere. If they are able to create the possibility of a beautiful impact, for that they are incredibly worth being expressed.
And even if they might be insincere, within this allowance of incompleteness there lies relative perfection. In this steadily practice and adjustment the art gets to refine itself. Eternal gathering results in a mental overload. But if those gathered ideas are being assigned to their higher structures occasionally, then one successfully escaped the tormentor entropy.
It’s not even the words themselves with tremendous impact, its the effect behind them, which matters. It’s the meanings, memories and visions, that buzz in the thoughts in the course of the sound of a word just like the ever fading gong of a standing bell persevering in the air. It’s about those catalyst moments just as they appear in nature, when nature forces collide, push off or complete each other. It’s the magic of the wonder, not that of the controlled pure outcome that should lead us. The wonderful art of synchronous sprouting.
Mastery of any art is not just a question of control. It’s equally important to let oneself fall. Surprise. Expression. Just like the dancer who moves imprecise although effortless. Where there is nothing pretended. Real motions followed by true devotion.
We can respond to the sweet doubt now with redemption:
Littlest doubt, your fear, not being able to master something uniquely, that hasn’t even started yet, is understandable, humane und known, yet, to your highest luck, more than unsubstantiated. That, which we try to master, shall not be confused with what fullfills our lives with purpose. Follow the reciprocity of intuition and information. It’s the thunder, that emerges in the highs of the sky and exudes vertically trenchant onto earth. Just like the unawareness of what might come first, flash or sound, just as equal is your vast thought process, yet always uniting. Take hints of scientific knowledge and let your mind wander freely. The intuition’s correspondent part is the colossal stone which represents the solid concrete in this world unlike the dynamical flow of ever forging airs. Lucid knowledge will always remain to consume intuition and conversely trenchant truth remains to consume lucid knowledge. A pair of lovers of the tides.
Finally, one shall be mentioned – that children are miracles so be wise just as them. Be a bit like Alice and find joy in the moment of utter chaos and complexity as she dives down the rabbit hole. Everything contains a bit of joy and magic, fantasy and euphoria. Then you’ll learn to paint flowers red if you only possess white ones and then you can see a thousandfold beyond what is.
Enjoy.
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