post2:: it's a bit daunting beginning an online log. i keep a journal, but that's of little help since writing down thoughts in a small leather bound book does not compare with typing into a small form that will be published to the world on the wide web. While writing in my journal i have pondered whether to vent and release angst and frustrations as if it were a receptical for these thoughts and feelings and by doing so i could excorcize them, freeing them from my daily life. Or am i writing a record of my life. Do i want to record the moments of beauty that make it all worth while, so i can remember them and read about them later in life. Do i want to someday share my experiences with others, or is the journal just a punching bag, a therapy tool, a place to get your sweat on and go home a more relaxed human being.
who knows. what excites me about blogger is that i spend an enormous amount of time on the web and almost all of it is graphically oriented. Designing and manipulating images, working with vectors and animation, typography, file size, downloads, restrictions. almost none of it is spent writing, and i miss that. This will be a new experience and I look forward to it. The fact that others may if at all read this makes me slightly nervous, like i'm stepping onto stage and grabbing the karioki mic knowing that this bird can't sing. but that's part of the fun.
If anyone is reading i'll try to keep it intersting, and maybe by doing this i'll dust off a few of my books and spend more time with my nose in them.
SELF-PORTRAIT by albert einstein
Of what is significant in one's own existence one is hardly aware, and it certainly should not bother the other fellow. What does a fish know about the water in which he swims all his life?
The bitter and the sweet come from the outside, the hard from within, from one's own efforts. For the most part I do the thing which my own nature drives me to do. Arrows of hate have been shot at me too; but they never hit me, because somehow they belonged to another world, with which I have no connection whatsoever.
I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.