When I read my post of last evening I am at first repelled. It seems self-pitying and sentimental. But rather than delete it, I wait. I sleep and dream of meeting Miles Davis. And then, this morning, re-reading it, I realize that it is the truth, and while one could read it as self pity, it is my story. There is no point, for me, in pretending it is any different.
A few weeks ago I was talking to Bao about blogging, and I said that I was afraid my blog might seem like a self-indulgent whine. But now, I think, it is the truth. I try to be objective, to put the facts out. By acknowledging the truth of things, I can understand more. In contrast, this picture is not truth; it is a manipulation of the truth. The real tree is not gold. The sky above it is blue, not pink.
About Me
- madabandon
- Brooklyn, New York, United States
- a musician/artist living in brooklyn with two l gray cats and an super-cute dog, writing about the trivial and the not-so-trivial, often sleep-deprived and benignly neurotic.
1 comment:
I think that sentimentality, like liberalism, is a much maligned quality. Although I understand the need for objectivity in certain facets of life, I believe that it is through sentimentality that we filter our experiences in a meaningful way. Without it, our personal histories would be little more than grocery lists, credit card receipts, tax forms, PINs, etc.
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