The Virgin Blog
This blog is a wonderful "sight". Can't say it's a wonderful read, because it's the layout and the pictures that attract me more than what's written. Pictures speak more than poems, sometimes, because they make you think more, wonder more, about what "else" might they depict, than the one explanation already mentioned.
So, when I opened my Blogger Dashboard today, and found a few new posts on the aforementioned blog, on my reading list, I opened it. And going through it, I found something, that even a friend of mine has started doing on his blog. Use blogging for good. Registering on certain sites, getting readers, participating in contests, etc. When he was the only one I knew, who was doing it, it didn't matter, I didn't give it a single thought. Except, of course, when he asked for something, or about something, related to any of those activities. Seeing someone else doing it, and more people, doing the same, it occurred to me why I don't do it. I am online for more than half the day. I spend more than twelve hours on this keyboard. So, I can't complain I don't have resources.
The point is that this blog had its origins in my previous blog, which, despite having started off as a "blog", with random posts, poems, and film analysis, had soon turned into an emotional dump. And no matter how much I say that my private life is public property, I never allowed my private life to be "understandable" by the public. The blog was meant for a few people to read, and know what's going on with me. It was never meant to be a professional blog.
When this blog started, I had never said that this won't be personal. This was a perfect a e-diary. Then, Facebook, a social networking site, conquered my online life. It had the facility of text-messaging-your-status-updates. The result, as is visible in a couple of posts last month, was that I did not need my blog any more.
Then, I grew up a little more, in the course of a couple of months. Facebook status-es could show only that what I was doing. Physically. It wasn't possible to showcase the thought-webs that run up and down in the brain, every moment, faster than the speed of light. I needed to blog-out the mental activity.
Then, I grew up a little more, in the course of a conversation. And I decided to make my blog readable for people who know nothing about me. That is, around a week back, maybe.
So now, I can register and participate in all online blogging hubs. So, why don't I?
This reminds me of an instance (or more), where someone told em that I put my skills for understanding-and-analysing-people to use, and become a psychiatrist/psychologist. I didn't understand why I had retorted back furiously. I had said something like I don't want to get paid for something I love doing. That was the silliest and most unjustified thing I could have said. So, today, I talked about it with someone. The thing is that, reading people's minds is not something, I do because I love doing it. It's something I feel I need to do. To keep me going. It's more of a personal thing for me. If I understand someone, firstly, I don't want to tell it, to the person itself, or others (with a few exceptions), because it's never ever possible to understand a person correctly. My evaluation, is one that satisfies me alone. Why should I convince someone else about my opinion, when I know that it's not absolute? And that, no matter how much I learn textbooks and techniques on understanding human beings, it can never be absolute. Because, me, and everyone else, are bound within the limits of being a human being. And the mind is as adaptive as the body can be.
So, no can be right about reading a person's mind. If I do, it, because I need to do it, I won't like getting paid for it. It's like getting paid for shitting in public. Same goes for blogging, as far as my present mind-set is concerned. What I've decided to do, isn't the question. I haven't got used to doing what I've decided to do. I haven't got over the feeling that my blog is me, unmasked. I can't sell my mind.
I have started writing impersonal stuff, but in way, somewhere, they are still, my mind, laid bare. I can put it up for public display (that's why there are no security issues on this page).
People can see it, and comment on it. They'll help me, in a way, to get to know them, to get to know myself. But I can't sell it. Not that I'll lose it if I sell it. But it will be treated and commented upon by other people in a fashion that might not help me.
My teacher had once told me that he can never sell his paintings. He can put them up for exhibition, for everyone to see, and rate. But he can't let go the canvas boards. Each of them contain a piece of his heart.
I don't paint-out. So, I can sell my paintings (except one, again!). But I do blog-out. I think aloud, I wonder aloud.