Another chapter...

It seems a peculiar and rather morbid thought, on the birth day of something new, to think of how its life will end, but I can't help it. In cyberspace, there is no sound when another blog pops into existence. It's just another drop in the bucket, a miniscule addition to the collective pool of thought that floats in nothingness, awaiting the validation (read "hits") that all blogs require.

Blogs: the bold new vehicles for human expression which satisfy our inflated egos and transform your average Joe into T.S. Elliot and your average Jill into Virginia Woolfe. The brain child of free speech and the Internet, turning the Web into an unending bazaar where every vendor has an opinion or a heartwrenching biography to sell you.

Already I sound jaded and cynical - hardly what you want to hear. And to top it off, I'm a hypocrite! Blogging about the asinine nature of the blogosphere: how original. But I really can't bring myself to make any excuses or apologize. I do harbour resentment for blog culture. You'll notice this is "Inside the mind of a genius" version 2.0. I had a blog a while back. I ranted about politics, religion, philosophy, popular culture; I posted links to things I found on the Internet and made a photo album of webcam photos of myself. I did all the things bloggers are suppoesd to do except post with any sort of regularity. And then I stopped altogether. I thought, How arrogant of me to be posting my opinions in a public place as if anyone will care to read them! It's completely pointless. The only people reading this are the people I've talked to about the very same subjects I'm writing about. Do they really need electronic summaries of our conversations on the Internet?

You'll notice that I'm back at it. Do I still think that blogging can be pointless? Yes. Do I think it is always pointless? No.

I thought about the implications of such an enormous expressive movement and I realized that it is fairly remarkable that the blogosphere exists. At the very least it is an extraordinarily candid look at the lives of human beings. There are people who post every detail of their day online, people who post essays, photos, poetry... When you think about it, the blogosphere, when taken a whole, is the most accurate peek into the minds of average people that exists. When we study history, we study fossilized remnants of ancient cultures, rely on stories passed on from generation to generation and pore over a handful of ancient texts. In short, our difficulties in understanding our ancestors arise from a shortage of information. Future generations, on the other hand, will have to contend with an excess of information about our culture - but it will all be perfectly in tact and virtually complete (barring some massive Electromagnetic pulse wiping out everyone's hard drives...but that's a topic for another blog).

But I'm not blogging because I hope that one day I'll be part of some futuristic reconstruction of our society. I'm blogging because I need to write. Maybe one day I'll get paid to write for a publication that is read by thousands of people worldwide, but for now, I need to just keep writing. I am not so arrogant to assume that people will read by blog, but the mere fact that I chose to blog and not to write in a secret diary suggests that I think it would be nice if people did read it.

I hope you like the way I write, even if you do not agree with what I am saying, at least enough to come back and read it again (or even keep tabs on my RSS feed *nudge nudge*). In return, I will do my best to be a consistent blogger.

To conclude, here's a quote from R.M. Rilke's "Letters to a young poet" which I find particularly inspiring, not just as a writer but as an artist of any sort:

"Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose. "