we stand alone
i've started writing in my journal again, and it really is strangely cathartic. it's been more than six months since i wrote in a physical journal, and while i'm really out of practice, there's a freshness to putting your thougts down in word. one thing i found out, was that by physically writing things down, it offers us a illusionary security of enduring after we leave this mortal realm. i think writing appealed to me somewhat because it subconciously allowed me to exist outside of my experience, or my perceptual senses, and it fictionalised my reality and offered something that would be rather untouched by this realm of reality. writing in a secret journal is what it is, a secret where it's still untainted by our surroundings. unlike blogging, which is rather exhibitionistic.
a few of my concerns. it sucks being in an artistic rut. i shure could use a few fresh ideas.
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