did you know that humor only works
when you sacrifice yourself first?
fact.
as an existential person i cant help but apply the questions of my life to this blog. what is its purpose? what does it contribute to creative fulfillment? what does it contribute to other life?
i think a lot of these questions - and perhaps a fear of audience - have held me back from sharing as much as i would like to. it's not really growth, just to age. you have to actively work at keeping your sense of youthful abandon, especially as a creative.
it dawned on me that without this output, im the only one in conversation with myself. people don't know what's going on in here, in this brain. the sunflowers. the music playing with the art. the smiles with strangers. the tears welling up with a song, surging. the meaning i see in just about anything.
for a while, too, i was thinking: what value are my words and posts when there are millions and billions of words, images and articles posted to the internet everyday? perhaps you, reader, can relate. i'm just contributing to the noise, i thought.
but there is a place for what i do, i must remind myself. from the start, my goal has been not on gaining readers, but on curating meaningful internet experiences - for myself, definitely, but also others. it's meant to be a respite from the noise, something you read late at night it's dark and you're in your room doing whatever and no one else is awake. possibly my favorite thing in the world is to experience - and express - the ways music and art and text engage with one another in my head, forming a sort of intersectional poetry. it's something you and i can get our thoughts lost in, and we don't even have to talk.
i cant go back and fill you in on it all, and i realize i dont need to - after all, wouldn't that just be noise? what's more important than recording everything is accepting that your life story is never all going to be in one place. digital tools certainly exacerbate feelings of disconnected storylines - you've got different ones on every fuckin social media platform you're on - but it's always been this way. our life stories have always been told by everyone around us, with us, hopefully.
once im gone, maybe you'll find my various journals and scribbles and iphone notes, my slew of unsorted images of artworks and personal photos, and make a story out of it. if you're reading this: oh, it's worth it. i rarely am what you may think!
in the meantime, i should probably wrap up writing about writing and just start writing!
when you sacrifice yourself first?
fact.
as an existential person i cant help but apply the questions of my life to this blog. what is its purpose? what does it contribute to creative fulfillment? what does it contribute to other life?
i think a lot of these questions - and perhaps a fear of audience - have held me back from sharing as much as i would like to. it's not really growth, just to age. you have to actively work at keeping your sense of youthful abandon, especially as a creative.
it dawned on me that without this output, im the only one in conversation with myself. people don't know what's going on in here, in this brain. the sunflowers. the music playing with the art. the smiles with strangers. the tears welling up with a song, surging. the meaning i see in just about anything.
for a while, too, i was thinking: what value are my words and posts when there are millions and billions of words, images and articles posted to the internet everyday? perhaps you, reader, can relate. i'm just contributing to the noise, i thought.
but there is a place for what i do, i must remind myself. from the start, my goal has been not on gaining readers, but on curating meaningful internet experiences - for myself, definitely, but also others. it's meant to be a respite from the noise, something you read late at night it's dark and you're in your room doing whatever and no one else is awake. possibly my favorite thing in the world is to experience - and express - the ways music and art and text engage with one another in my head, forming a sort of intersectional poetry. it's something you and i can get our thoughts lost in, and we don't even have to talk.
i cant go back and fill you in on it all, and i realize i dont need to - after all, wouldn't that just be noise? what's more important than recording everything is accepting that your life story is never all going to be in one place. digital tools certainly exacerbate feelings of disconnected storylines - you've got different ones on every fuckin social media platform you're on - but it's always been this way. our life stories have always been told by everyone around us, with us, hopefully.
once im gone, maybe you'll find my various journals and scribbles and iphone notes, my slew of unsorted images of artworks and personal photos, and make a story out of it. if you're reading this: oh, it's worth it. i rarely am what you may think!
in the meantime, i should probably wrap up writing about writing and just start writing!
julia ciccarone
~~~
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