It has been ages since I have graced/disgraced the text box of Tumblr or any form of textual spaces with my words and opinions. Notwithstanding Facebook statuses or comments on social forums which usually just involve humourous drivel (or at least I like to think it’s fairly funny). I try to maintain a stance that is comedic and make slightly noncommittal remarks so that I never have to ferociously defend much points and subsequently leave my writing open for criticism.
I think it is adequately accurate to assume that I have become sufficiently discouraged lately by several circumstances in life to be apprehensive about writing. Seems borderline dramatic to posit such an encompassing statement involving nonspecific events and blaming life in general, but it’s my story to tell and not yours, therefore I can attribute the trepidation to your Aunt Beatrice and there is nothing with which you can retaliate, save for you saying you do not have an Aunt Beatrice. To which I can respond that you do not have one only to your knowledge.
But I digress.
I leave myself susceptible to the sneers and jeers from just about anybody from all walks of life with every letter I type, pen, and orally emit. I embrace the manipulation of the Oxford Comma whenever I feel it translates better from my head to the paper as well as the interminable issuing of alliteration, even though they are both severely frowned upon in the literary world among the club of erudite snobs. Not to say that some sense of propriety concerning what is indeed accurate within the sphere of error free writing should be ignored. To be grossly negligent of grammatical structure and spelling is something which even I fastidiously try to avoid and is something I deem abhorrent when reading the works of others.
To those that loathe and frown upon the usage of alliteration however, I say that I shall persistently prevail with the employment of powerfully, well placed, and potent alliteration. (See what I did there?)
That little rant is the most diminutive reason I can possibly ascribe to the absence of my zeal for expressing myself through words, or rather properly honestly expressing myself on a whole. While I refuse to get entirely personal on any given forum, I shall merely assert that minor articulations which may permit persons to become privy on the intricacies of my life may be made here as I have done in the past.
I shall attempt not to let my woes and issues with my environment transform into the hearty stock with which I fatten my paragraphs.
But I may also be lying because it is the most cathartic medium by which I find relief and absolution.
Clearly there is no specific theme with which I am striving to adhere to in this piece. It is just aimless writing, because as I have said before, I have not in over a year. Tragic, but the zeal has just disappeared.
But as banal as it may be and unorganized with respect to one central idea by which everything else revolves, its a start and I need a start. As I have stated in a previous post, there is an order to my chaos and I am emptying whatever I feel needs to be eliminated to make space for more mindless clutter in my brain.
There is this saying from Hemingway about writing being simple, that you just have to sit at a typewriter and bleed.
I think I have made quite a mess here for the night.