I really don't know why I am blogging. I have blogged before, primarily to keep up tabs with my boss and coworkers at my old job. Blogging is good for those who like to rant and rave about the current news or else those who have specific missions in mind or are conducting some kind of social, interpersonal, scientific, or religious experiment....
Yet, I suppose I could fall into that criteria. My experiment consists of the diurnal everything i come into contact with, my hypothesizing, my observations, my trials and errors, my theories, my ideas, my actions. But then again, why post it on the web?
I suppose it is this question that gets to me. I can easily answer it by telling myself that in the hegemonic direction that virtual technology is heading, it just makes sense. Yet I love the diary, the paper journal, the sketchbook. The tactile richness of writing with pen in hand and notebook leaning up against a knee, stained with the rings of coffee cups, I like tearing out pages that I regret writing in, or passing the book around for collaborative responses. I like the fact that when I am out on my bicycle in the middle of nowhere I can pull over, pull out my little book while biting the cap to my pen off, and there sitting in the gentle shade inscribe my witnessing of it all...
Yet people do carry laptops with them on long loaded bicycle trips.
It is a difficult thing to reconcile, analogous to the decision of a photographer to go digital after chemistry has made a home in his heart and the gelatin silver wrestles with the pixels in vain because after all they are not in opposition to each other but pitted against each other because of some strange hangup that the photographer has. Trying to choose one over the other, trying to rationalize, knowing fully that logic creates war.
It is a block, but the more writing the better I suppose and I dare not discriminate against the contamporary fashion of logging known as blogging... why the b I ask though? And why the internet? Why the internet?