Blogs have never appealed to me, kind of in the way that appearing on reality television shows has never appealed to me. Everything seems so plastic, fabricated, all authenticity edited away, the humanity, the long breaths between a hesitant response, the ghost sounds of someone blinking.
For the longest time, I hated writing about myself. Anything: College applications, job interviews- Why are you awesome? Tell us! Tell us! Blogs to me were kind of an extension of this manufactured narcissism, except that nobody would read it. The great lives live them and the mediocre lives write about them, I said. Then I started writing poetry.
Which is, I record thoughts, or sights, based on experiences, filtered through the lens of the poetic. Something I considered important, worthwhile, even though I had no idea what I was doing. Recently I realized that my life, all lives, are stories too, and that, filtered through the lens of, say, prose, it’s kind of like translating poems by God, or Fate or Joe Pesci or whatever you believe in. I thought, if you don’t think your life is worth something, worth telling people about, worth reading, then what are you doing? Do I think it’s being written so poorly that none of it can be chronicled and shown to anyone? No. God’s typing up my life brilliantly. Lives are the stories and songs of the bigger hands, and writing them down, recounting these experiences, these thoughts, things that you know but do not really even belong to you, sharing them with anyone who will listen, it’s a kind of spreading of the goods. Filesharing of the mystical.
So here they are. Pieces from this work of art, so that yours may be a little different for the better. I don’t know though, I still suspect that people who write and write about themselves are just freaks who need a good slapping. If this blog begins to only engender results detriment to the lives and psyche of it’s readers, if at all, please report this to me and I will delete this immediately, as it’s intent is almost entirely for the benefit of the other rather than the author himself, and I will shake my finger in the air like old men in medieval knight films- I knew it! I knew it all along! and probably kick a wall or something before slumping into a chair, listening to loud music with tons of profanity. Let me know, and thanks for visiting.
– Jordan Kapono Nakamura