Wednesday, 31 August 2011

I have lost my voice.

I have not been writing anything of substance during the last few months.
And indeed, it’s been years since I felt I had anything to say.
The question is, what am I so scared about? The answer is, I’m “scared” of not being good enough. “Scared” of my thoughts being too unoriginal, or not well enough put. “Scared” that my taste in things is so bad that I don’t even know which of my thoughts are worth saying out loud or writing down, and which aren’t. A while ago, someone or other has told me – relating to a completely different subject, but that is irrelevant – that I’m not really as great as I seem to think, and it just won’t leave me alone. I am constantly comparing myself to others, and concluding that I’m not fit to hold a candle to them. Why are they so much better than me? Envy turns into resentment, and I turn into a bitter cynical misanthrope. Then at times, I tell myself that this whole blogging thing is nothing but a narcissistic, specular, exhibitionist circus world that I don’t think I want to participate in anyways. And fear not, I think the same of the real world, in general, too. From time to time.

Also, I assume, I’ve lost something, and that is time to reflect. Time in which I am alone with myself, left to marinate in my own essence, so to speak. I don’t think everyone is like that, but for me, when I am with another person, or other persons (a lot), I forget myself a bit. I start existing exclusively in the space between me and the other person. I am de-centered. I put myself out into the creative commons. And I lose my own grip on myself.
The above, for some reason, has made it impossible to write anything that is in any way profound, because I don’t even think profoundly. I don’t have to. Everything just trinkles past, in an everlong, inconsequential stream
There might be other reasons as well. But those I dare not think, because they are inacceptable.

This is why there have been only pictures, lately.
And nothing interesting.
Sometimes I read things, and then I think, well, obviously. I’ve thought of that before.
But I didn’t write it down. Perhaps because I was too self-conscious and thought it wasn’t that impressive to begin with. But more likely because I was simply too lazy to put the thoughts into words.

Pictures were taken in and outside of Westlicht gallery, Vienna.
Have a nice day.


Anonymous said...

ich bilde mir ein, ganz genau zu verstehen was du meinst.

manchmal glaube ich, dass alle anderen besser sind. manchmal, dass sie einfach nur ein besser ausgeprägtes selbstvertrauen haben.

was man dagegen tun kann weiß ich nicht.

d.ash. said...

Wahrscheinlich geht’s eh allen von Zeit zu Zeit so. Aber andererseits vielleicht bin ich doch ein extremes Beispiel. Es is so ein leidiges Thema, really?

Ich hör grad Divine Comedy, und komischerweise hilft mir das immer, mir wie ich selber vorzukommen. Wer immer das sein mag.

Elise said...

Oh, after commenting on your other post I scrolled down a little and read this: I know precisely how you feel. Before now I used to have another blog where I wrote a lot, and sometimes too much, and I began to feel as though the whole thing was becoming a self-interested and grotesque circus show of my own mediocre everything.. and especially of doubting my own taste, as if nothing I enjoy is really my own since I read about it or saw it somewhere first instead of coming up with it on my own (or doing enough to prove I like it, like some strange competition), or being so unsure of the quality of my own ideas that I would dismiss them almost instantly. Perhaps it's a crisis of self-confidence. Anyway: I don't know how to solve it, though loud pop and a little dance usually makes me feel a lot better.