I really would like to have some sort of awesome, thought provoking first post, however i also realize that you all don’t know anything about me. Why would you care about some post from some random person that you have never met? If i was in your position, i most likely wouldn’t care either. So maybe i should start it off with an excerpt from my journal. Giving you a little insight into the kind of person that I am.
This is my entry in my journal from April 5, 2014. Reading it now, it seems as if i tried so hard at seeming sophisticated and philosophical. Perhaps it comes across even a little pompous. Either way, here it is, i shall not censor myself.
April 5, 2014
Just so you know, if you are reading this, if I ever allow anyone to read this, this is just me, sitting at a computer, listening to music, and writing down my thoughts.
So I guess I will begin.
Time means nothing. That’s the lyric that I just heard. I wonder if the fact that I am listening to music will greatly affect the way I write, the thoughts I think. Of course I know this is true. But then what even are my thoughts if not just a representation of something that is going on in my environment. I cannot type as fast as I am thinking, my thoughts are streaming faster than my fingers can move. Perhaps I need to learn to type faster. That seemed to be a genuine thought, coming directly from my psyche and not from the environment. But then again, what is the psyche if not a creation of the environment. Of all the things that I have been taught. A representation of my upbringing and the society that I have grown in.
The song has changed. And so have my thoughts. Perhaps my stream of thoughts will change with the music. Maybe I will do that on purpose. But the entire point of this exercise is to tap into my unconscious thought and if I say that I may do that. And yet if I plan to do that, then that is not my unconscious but more my conscious or subconscious. Jason keeps walking in and out of the door. I don’t want him to view (laughing at my attempt of sophistication) my writing. But why must I hide my words? If I’m hiding my written word from others, could it not be so that I am hiding my thoughts from my written words. Wow that’s a pretty decent realization from a bunch of nothing. At least for now. But there I go again moving something I want to achieve unconsciously into my conscious or subconscious thought. Once I think of it consciously is it not always in my subconscious? Influencing my thoughts. When I think of this influence I think to my memories, but real quick the song is about to change, and I find myself thinking of starting a new paragraph and (this commercial is cutting through all of my thoughts, and is stuck directly in my conscious, okay it is gone, but I love this song.)
I’m going to cut off that thought of the paragraph and start a new one. This isn’t the song I originally thought it was, but I like this song as well. So back to my memories. All my life I haven’t questioned my memories, or at least the few that I can remember. But in recent times, I have begun to question the validity of them, perhaps this stems from my reading of Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook, but regardless, I am still questioning it. I have this memory of a time when I was a baby, I was walking, and I had a bottle in my hand. I slipped on a rag and split my lip open on the bottle. I remember not the stitches I received, but the scar on my lip is still there. But this memory is one that I should not have. I was too young to formulate such a long lasting memory. All my family has told me this story, countless times, and I believe their recollections of this event have implanted a false memory into my mind. I can even remember a time that I once did not remember this memory. But perhaps the only reason I can remember that time is because I am questioning my memories and thinking of whether or not there was a time in which I could not remember these memories. I think that the only thing that I can do is begin to write a journal. In fact I will start today.
An Art Collective 