Cogito ergo blog


Hi. I’m the procrastinator of the bunch. I’ve been dragging my feet about this initial post for a couple weeks now… still not clear about why, since I jumped at the chance to be part of SalonZ in the first place.  ‘Suppose I’ll attempt to figure that out right here.  I let technical issues and more urgent (but ultimately less important) domestic to-do’s get in the way of sitting down and getting my hands dirty poking around the place, that much is obvious.

Pfffft. Fear is tiresome. Hate when I catch myself letting it drive. ‘Afraid of how honest I’ll require myself to be about some things? That unflinching honesty is actually something I think I need more of in my life, since I have rationalization down to an art. That obstacle doesn’t hold water. ‘Afraid I’ll piss someone off, strike a nerve? Certainly possible. Old, formative background tapes say ruffling feathers is anathema to good person-hood. I know better. I also know clearly, at the ripe old age of 47, that I can disagree with someone and still respect and admire the bejeesus out of them. So that objection is easily countered too.

I will admit to being a little intimidated by the company. These co-Zombies of mine are formidable women in a multitude of respects, not the least of which is their creative voices.  I’m drawn to that in the people around me, always have been.  Being a radio dj back in college is a decent example.  I couldn’t make music, couldn’t play an instrument… but I could manipulate it, I could use it to affect mood.  I saw patterns in it instinctively and it was like literature to me. But all I could really do is manipulate, at best embellish, the creative work of others. Felt like a bit of a fraud sometimes, hanging out with musician friends.  David Foster Wallace once said, in essence, that what you worship will enslave you. Worship would mean that to which you give your energy, the best of yourself, what you chase to become the best you can be. If your life is lived in the pursuit of wealth, you’ll never know “enough”. If you pursue and worship intellect (or in this case, good writing), then simply because you’re so blown away by the quality and clarity of what’s good, anything you produce will pale in comparison. We are our own worst critics. I know I am.

I think it’s at this point that I find myself stuck. Luckily, the aforementioned 47 years have also given me a way to blow all of the above noise out of the damn way… the notion that sometimes there is nothing so satisfying or so freeing as a well placed “To hell with it … here goes nothing.” Time and misadventure bring balls, I think, at least of the metaphorical sort.

I’m enough.  So here I go. Blogging. With balls.

I’m going to play with features as I go, throw in some music or link to an article here and there. Let me know what you think.

Just because it’s a beautiful day, and Earth Day is right around the corner, and the image of matrilinear continuity never loses its shimmer for me … some music … Imogen Heap.


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