Still around, just quiet. Lots of offline writing.

This time I disappeared because I have a second Mastodon account. I understand people take on different identities, but online isn't the only platform where we're compartmentalizing ourselves.

On a different note, I got a new keyboard and it types like a dream. I am genuinely enjoying it. I had written a lot of words yesterday, but none of them fiction.

Did I miss anything?

I wonder what is the nature of someone who writes a lot. Of course it varies, but for example, while I am content to quietly jot down concepts into my notebook and participate in an event that isn't my business only when I'm directly asked for an opinion, I am very able to destroy someone with my stern feedback and conviction. Yesterday I met both a person that sees me as quiet and one that sees me as loud, with opinions and convictions.

LB Hey look, a video about ActivityPub which I've realized I do not understand at all and most likely won't except in the most basic of terms like the way Mastodon's introduction describes it. Or does it only describe federation, which is an aspect of ActivityPub? Or is it? Aaa!

Also, our intrepid admin. Dun dun dun.

Maeower boosted

It's all experimental and a documentation. How to make the mundane seem interesting. It's not necessary to do that, because it already is. A big fantasy is enjoying the rituals. Word after word form new ways of using language. Who's going to believe it if not the person using those words on someone else. Yes, a quiet strategy, but it works and it's gentle and it's easy.

So... I am going back to doing things and hoping for the best. May content run wild and free. May it exist. May I learn through doing. May others like or dislike it. May it make a change or just disappear into the sea or black hole of all the information on the net and all the secret archives to be analyzed or already analyzed by an artificial superintelligence.

(Kiss kiss to the Machine.)

It doesn't mean forever or no change, but I haven't found an in through meticulous preparation.

I have fallen into the classic trap of overthinking and eternal preparation. I wanted to try a different approach than the 'there I simply did it is it good golly I hope all the elements simply fell where they needed to be', but I got lured into procrastination instead, because a little planning turned into a lot if planning which turned into trying to control everything which leads to a lot of misery.

So.

The question of identifying as a writer. The question of identifying, period.

I am not only a writer, but here I am that. I look at this toot and think 'this is writing. It might not be very interesting to others to consider it a written piece, but to me it is writing'.

If I stay with the material and develop it/let it develop, it might turn into something interesting to other people, too?

There is a beautiful man that inspires. Someone is competing against him. It's not a matter of winning, but about generating content.

Just like last year, I am posting my 2019 goals as part of a challenge on habitica.com

1. Financial independence
2. Additional income
3. Established online presence
4. Three substantial art pieces
5. Maintained hobbies

The remaining 2014 goals are contained within these 5 big ones.

He humbly and indirectly asks for attention. The request is granted, but not in the way he needs.

Several people fumble with it. They seem tired, but in good moods. They all survive.

If I told you I was in a writing slump, would you think I was procrastinating?

If I wrote a poem about you, would you feel its content?

If I edited a text from years ago, would I still have space for new projects?

If I wrote in another language, would the meaning be different?

If I seduce with words, is it still substantial?

Vague thought about how sharing experiences and connecting with people are nice, pleasant and likely needed activities. Feeling seen and understood, relating to others.

To use that against people on a large scale is very cruel.

Protecting yourself from exploitation. Sharing yourself becoming primarily a place of danger or at least caution. Accidentally identifying openness as a mistake or weakness. Getting trapped in extremes. Looping back into obvious truths about what you need.

You apologize for something I didn't even notice. Am I relaxed, ill or do you give a lot of care even though I am alright.

I like what your hands do when they're under my shirt. The ease with which they find their way. Mine rest over your layers (of clothes).

I think about you being closer. I enjoy.

Get into the muck. It's humbling and freeing.

Sure, it's dirty, but how does it compare to the poison of your concepts?

The ground is where desires feed, the air where ideas calcify.

The body filters and experiences simultaneously.

Fun.

The body wants the capacity to feel pain.

Have the option of interpretation and response.

Am I in danger? Is it time to change something?

"Self-inflicted" — duh.

I still want to poke out my my own ink. I like working with my hands.

So I'm thinking about what sort of writing project I could really focus on and write about here. Document the process.

I have a couple of old NaNos I did but never looked at again. I have a typewriter. Typewriter poems? Poems are tricky. Non-figurative text? Reviews? A series of short stories just for fun that are thinly veiled musings about my life? A screenplay for a short movie I want to make in the next five years? Huh.

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