There is trouble with the trees
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas...The Trees, Rush
This blog was supposed to be a creative outlet and I guess it is still. I've given up trying to control who reads it, or why. I opened the lid on that one, probably for subconscious narcissistic reasons. Just one more thing to be aware of when writing to my silent pack of voyeurs. I tell Pandora not to censor herself on her blog. I don't like to see such creativity stifled. She would probably tell me the same. After all our written words originally attracted us.
I think about it though, the feelings I hurt, the egos I stroke, the pictures I paint. Their motives. Their thoughts-- especially their thoughts. I'm left bleeding on the stage, the lights fade, the curtain falls and you can hear a pin drop from the audience. They shuffle off in silence and wait for the next show. I am too busy with my act to notice if they are sitting on the edge of their seats. Is that suddenly drawn handkerchief to blot away the tears or to stifle a smile. Do they play drinking games over the spelling errors? One shot for ever time he uses "then" instead of "than". One shot for every time the wrong word gets passed spell checker. Two shots if he mentions your name.
We present 2D images of ourselves to most of the world. Too our friends and family we are 3D, filled in mostly by shared experiences. We seldom get a glimpse inside the minds of those around us. Their doubts, dreams and fears, the things we all have but are afraid to share 90% of those I share here. What does that do?
