Diary – Tuesday

This is what I was thinking yesterday, and I may or may not get this straight.  Nothing is ever perfect, but I generally know when to leave what I’ve written – when it appears as something of an ‘artistic whole’ (even though I don’t entirely believe in that notion).  I may or may not tell you if I think I have achieved that – this is now on the hoof –

What I was thinking – it’s funny (I was thinking) – when I read, I don’t really read for content – I don’t think I do – I can be oblivious to content (or, it is secondary) –

And – but what I’ve just said – that can’t apply to thrillers and horror and fantasy or science fiction that I read specifically so that I can turn the pages and find out what happened, can it? –

Ah – I’ve been in this spot before where I try to wrap things around – say – yes, this applies to me; this is how I am –

Only to find instances or occasions when I don’t seem to be that way at all –

And then you can worry in case you are lying – but you never are – or, on the odd occasion when you might find that a necessity – you do know you are doing it – and there is a reason –

No – if I catch myself saying something that doesn’t seem to apply to something else I have espoused elsewhere – I am all unaware.  It is a rarity indeed that I lie outright – and I can say that about myself.

But – leave this track now, and get back to what I was thinking yesterday –

I can be oblivious to content in what I read.

I can be carried away by sound, or rhythm.

A pervasive soft shushing sound in something I read yesterday – there was an accuracy, in it, of being a certain age – I picked up on that much – I admired the courage it must have taken to admit to that –

But it was the shushing, the softness of the expression that got me – the gentle round the edges.

And I commented, on an impulse.

Just that I loved it – the post.

And then I went back, later – maybe something was bothering me –

And some of the other comments – brought me up short.

They were to do with the content of the post – which I had hardly picked up on at all (except for a few bare bones) – content which had been, to me, hardly important.

It sounded like a gentlemen’s club, and I wondered if I would have been welcome at all – really – or – in what capacity.


Maybe I should stop commenting off the cuff.

But, on the other hand, some of these blog-people I comment with –

And this is where I break down – I have ‘I might or probably seem odd in some way – it is like, as though, but – we are on different pages.’


And I have ‘Might seem weird.  But I get a lot of insight from commenting – in this way – with not much –’


I’m strange?

Not my problem.




2 thoughts on “Diary – Tuesday

  1. I believe possibly, that I really know what you’re talking about here. I’m equating it to, maybe I’m reading wrong? – a song that you love, cheers you, energizes you but it’s actually a really upsetting one. Or someone posts a poem and I freekin love it even though I don’t know what it’s about or do and it’s something terrible but I love the writing, love that it could evoke….


  2. Yes – I’m talking about form and content here – you can be drawn along with the rhythms of something (seems to be more acceptable to talk of rhythm with regard to poetry, but prose has rhythm, also – don’t know if you read your prose aloud to see if it sounds right – I do). Oh – I had this comment down before, went off to check something before posting it – what did I say?
    You can get carried along with the sound of something, without hearing a word of what it is about – daydreaming, some would call it.
    But there is the subconscious in writing also – don’t know if you’ve had the experience of writing something of some length, getting to the end of it, starting to read it over – and you find all sorts in there that you didn’t put there.
    It’s not magic – it’s your subconscious working.
    I don’t think you can ‘read writing wrong’ – though I’m sticking my neck out here saying this – you can read with experiences of your own colouring what you see on the page – and, theoretically, anyway – that is as valid a way to read something as any other way.


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