Simply put, I need to open a dialogue, with myself of past present and future.
People don’t exist solely in our immediate, psychological sensation of “now”, we are molded into being by our own tracks, by the ones around us, down to the bottom of physics and biology, up toward the realms of culture, sociology and politics. It is easy to point to the person in the mirror and proclaim the discovery of oneself, but it is far harder organizing the crisscrossing lines of thought, the general sense of purpose and ambitions, and the libraries of history into a single, coherent being. At times it seems like I dissolve into a thousand projects, each heading their own way, stretching and thinning the skin that holds me together. Other times it seems despair is the only proper way to face the dungeon that conscious has imprisoned us all. The act of writing, or blogging, I think is a good way to insert pegs so the skin will hold across all my fields of inquiry, and of course, so ramparts may be built between my castle and yours.
