A series of minor catastrophes, Part I

Yes, minor. The Theory of General Relativity states that, generally, everything in the universe is relative. This being the case, the events in our lives which may to the casual and detached observer seem banal often appear to those in direct proximity to the event to be brighter, bigger, shinier, shittier.

Enter the past three months of one K.J. Tavat, reified mystery "man" residing in a secret locality known only to some radical Will hidden deep inside said individual, of whose Will the individual has both every and no conception whatsoever. Hence the apparent universal quality of banality.

For instance: December was the arctic bear that ravaged my realities and comfort zones. (A pathetic lamentation yet to be sung.) Last post, nearly one month past, was to be the heralding of a new day for this blogger. It was in fact intended as a birth ritual--never before had he attempted to present his inner emotions to an anonymous audience in the grand electronic matrix. This was to be the day, the hour. Of course it had to start off with ambuguity, with vagueness; a thinly-veiled Socratic conversation between imagined selves, "Timmy Timor" and "A Reason in the Sun". It was a bar set purposefuly low in order that it might give panash to later material and at the same time clarify the title of the blog. But life--and the blogospher--is surely something that will not bend to simple clarifications; nay, it RESISTS disambiguation, to the point that one is able to locate neither place, nor pattern, nor reason in the bewildering fold of nonsensensical voices, voids. Yet somehow an attempt is made to set this bar. Thus are the objects of the initial blog post fulfilled. On to issue #2.

December was the arctic bear that ravaged my realities and comfort zones. It was the first Tuesday in December. The parking lot where I work was covered in an inch of melting snow and the trees and the grass absorbed the grey lowness of the clouds overhead. The only thing greyer was the smoke that floated out of my cigarette, and its exhaled haze. This is the precise moment the idea entered into my head to write a blog. Don't write enough yet. Need a starting line for an oevre. It should be poinent and captivating, explosive. It will have a guiding theme. But what? The only thing vivid in this moment and in the hundreds of moments in the hours and days preceding this moment was the reality that I had broken up with my girlfriend of four years that Sunday night. The ramifications of this reality did not occur to me until after the deed was done. And a sordid deed it was. And, I thought, a tragic end to our troublesome and protracted drama together. We played a pair of needy souls thirsting after each other. We had danced in the daylight mists of love and then eviscerated each other's souls. We had played and cried and fought and fucked until the fruits of our labors withered, burned by the harsh fires of a sad dependence. We could not leave one another and we swore we would not--until I left her. I left her in a lake of sorrow she had filled with her tears. Her tears were over me alone, she said, and her supply was endless. Endless as well were the waves of rebuke with which I flagalated myself--uncertainty about my ability to judge reality, about my ethical compass, about my worth to the world and to myself, about my compassion and grief and selfishness and lust and greed, about playing the odds and riding numbers on crucial decisions in life, about my potential, about OUR potential to last and live and flourish. There are far more than seven sins. I had to tally my guilt.

Ours was a bizarre basket of love; the disparate straws ruined the design and one might throw the vessel away in disgust over its ugliness. Drunken belligerent phone calls and desperate accusations had been woven in thick strands among patterns of breathtaking affection. Kisses, random gifts, displays of utter devotion were the foundations shattered by cracks of jealousy, rage, and resentment, big and small. Our life together, like this basket, was an unbearable masterpiece.

My mind had been transformed by intense amorous molecules, my behaviour by repetition and reaction. There was no escape and no inate desire to do so, exactly. I along with she punched and kicked and choked and screamed and bruised the fragile membrane of our love. Together we would mend the cracks and heal the scars until the wounds in our life could not be seen at all from the surface. But our sickness was more chronic, our symptoms more systemic, and the organs of our life that used to supply sustenance to our love were useless, had been rotten from the inside out. Our relationship was moribund. But we were still alive. So it was ended.

Banality to be continued, you can be sure...

A Tuesday in December

“How To”

Gee, I’ve never done anything like this before, he said.

Like what? You mean a personal blog?

Yeah, he said. I mean a thing, a piece all about myself and stuff.

Well, I’ve been told that it is a terrific means of getting your thoughts out in the open, working through problems and the like. And sometimes other people might happen upon your page and be able to relate. That’s the idea, they say.

Yeah, that was my thought, he said. Most of the ones I’ve come across are pretty much all about the person writing it, so nothing I write down will be very original as far as content goes. I mean, so many people are dealing with the same kinds of problems in life, and there are probably thousands of writers who just want to get it all off their chest. And I think the idea is that you won’t feel so alone with all the heavy things going on inside your mind if you can just reach someone else.

Perhaps. But there are some blogs out there created by specialists for specialists, and they contain only technical information for people who are into the same hobbies and have similar interests. Do you think you might include that kind of thing on your page, information about subjects you’re interested in?

Hmmm…I guess so, he said. But I don’t really know if I know enough about the things I’m really into to write about them. Other people might get bored reading it and see it as amateur—just some guy trying to show off his knowledge. But so many people know so much more about the things I’m into than me, I just don’t think it would do any good. Like, I love playing guitar and I love music and know a little about books and some philosophy and a couple of other things. Maybe I’ll just only bring it up if it is important to the story.

That’s a possibility. Have you considered including your personal thoughts about life and about the world? Your 'musings', so to speak? I’ve noticed that many bloggers tend to stray into that randomly, mix in some ethos with their pathos.

I don’t know; that’s not exactly why I want to make a blog, he said. I guess if that stuff comes up while I'm working through my own issues then it would make sense to use it. I have a lot of ideas that could go with my stories. But then again, people might think I am trying to show off my ‘deep thoughts’ or something.

But the personal insights can be central to your narrative, can they not? Won't you need to explain to the readers how you feel about the things that happen to you, or are they supposed to simply understand what you’re going through based on the action alone?

That’s a good point, he said. I’ll probably end up writing down how I feel a lot, but not too much. There is just waaay to much to think about and to know about out there; it could really get tiring and pointless if I’m not careful. But I guess I can’t really say at this point since I haven’t even started yet...

...I suggest you take a few minutes and just write down whatever comes into your head. When you have written for awhile and have a sizeable chunk on the paper, pick out the material that sounds best, the narratives, anecdotes, knowledge, musings, whatever you think people might be interested in. But remember that in the end you are still writing for yourself so if you wind up with a sticky ball of gibberish and brain stew that particularly tickles your fancy, fuck it! It’s YOUR blog, brotha.

Aaaahhh…YEAH! You’re right—it IS my blog! he said. Thanks for all your wonderful advice, Better Half. You’re the best! See you around sometime. I’ll give you a call if I need some more help, alright?

Ha! Of course, friend. But don’t worry yourself about what I think; there are a million people out there who will be more than willing to give you a piece of their mind. Just remember:
“You can always apply
the same technique
to their critique
as you can to your own writing.”

Salve and happy blogging!!