I’ll often read something quite private out here and understand the feeling that the author feels safe to do so. So many people pour out their troubles and discontent, alongside their secret desires and frankly strange obsessions; posted and updated to their blogosphere, vulnerable for the next person to see. I try to wrap my head around this phenomenon. How safe can one feel exposed and yet secured between the two of us.

Who am I precisely to the next person who may stumble upon my blog? Do I care to revise and edit my current post so that it will undeniably burst in figurative terms trying to embody all of me, just so that it may per chance captivate you, so that I may appear significant and sophisticated in some way.

Who do we blog for?

Sometimes during the day an excellent phrase might flow through my mind and I would think to myself what, “what a great phrase” and entertain the idea of the next masterpiece I will post. On my worse days, I feel the need to share with you all how truly revolting my experiences may be. I try to find words that will take on the bluntness of my emotions while trying not to think about any specific individual who may read them, but just another anonymous figure who have taken a few intimate moments to share with me.

Recently, I find that I am truly the lowest in being lonesome.

I believe this emptiness is not one of pure physical senses, though that may play a large part, but as well for once I am touching the fringe of what people may call their salvated completion with something Holy. Though I don’t count myself to be an overtly religious person, I feel that we may all just want to be a part of something greater than ourselves, and as I speak those thoughts I am mindful that I have never truly submitted myself to be a person of faith. I may even go as far to say that I am not faithful, perfectly aware of the ambiguous meaning behind it. I don’t really understand it, but if what I had said earlier in this post were to be true, then why would we not put our best foot forward for all these anonymous figures to be impressed? Wasn’t that my goal?

I share with you guys words that I would not say aloud. They are so private and despicable, in want for the purely selfish reason of sharing something. I recall standing in the shower, greasy wet hair because I have not showered for the last two days, a slant body, quite starved of proper nutrition, dry weathered lips, just holding myself and pissing in the rain; I feel it may somewhat summarize the feeling of being here. I am naked.

I think alas I may begin to know how it feels for other bloggers to share their life. In the strangest of ways you wish to let other people know who you are so that they may pay their respects(?) They may even like your work; commend you. At the same time I still slightly shrink away from any comments though I would love the feedback. Some days I would check voraciously for a sign of life – somebody who read this and liked it, but could I ever stand the thought of someone reading this in front of me? I want you to read it, but I also want this to be all my own. I want you to expose me.

What am I aiming for when I share with you my thoughts? Does it truly matter whatever it may be that I am wallowing in. I just wish to write forever, trying to disclaim my conscience. A purge of provocation. A whole another world I want to hide in forever, even with all these people I love around me, ‘I cannot cater to you, I am so sorry’.I cringe because I am lonely. Maybe it is something as simple as wanting sex – though I cannot let myself loose that far – I am just trying to figure out what I want, versus what I really need, since sometimes they truly could be two different things.

I feel I am missing something in life, and in sharing our lot maybe we can try to find out what that is.