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Hello everyone!
I sit down once more to shuffle forward my tedious narrative of this life on the west coast and as I do so, I am reminded of the dichotomy that exists within this life, considered within the bounds of this virtual memory. Firstly, my life exists as it is lived out in the present, in what I imagine to be reality: I breathe, I walk and talk, I interact, however imperfectly, with life and with those lives around me. Secondly, shadowing what precedes it, here and always, is my virtual life, as recorded in this blog: I do much of what I perform in the first semblance of my life, but everything is edited, considered, enhanced. This murky mirror, free from the constraints of time, offers up a condensed story-line, an air-brushed memory. If I so choose, then I am able to omit embarrassing details, even to include exaggerated - perhaps even entirely fabricated - recollections. Grotesque in its contemplation, here I am able to become my own PR man, to cast forth if not a perfect image, then one that is at least an improvement upon the 'real', imperfect, human model. Here, I am in control: I am destiny, I am fate, I am god.
I am sorry; the idea amuses me greatly - what a blind watchmaker I would be! Indeed, entirely senseless! I am bound, as ever, by my own personal limitations: every word within this virtual life remains my own, in the strict sense that it is I who takes a thought, an idea, a recollection, puts a word, or a body of words, to that topic and then transposes this to the page you see before you. These words are shaped by my mind and imagination - in short, by my intellect. I may very well choose to delete damaging, disappointing elements from these narratives, but even in the act of replacing them with sturdier material, I reveal my very imperfect, very human nature in the bumbling words that I select to best convey my intentions and in the very spirit of those intentions themselves. Furthermore, I am reminded of those words - those self-righteous, pontificating words - that I delivered upon giving life to this blog, all those many months ago: my reasoning behind the birth of this blog were two-fold then and those reasons remain even now; to provide an enduring memory of my adventures for my own personal benefit and to provide an insight into this life for those of you elsewhere who care to drop in from time to time. Neither of those reasons, those twin pillars to my labours, encourage me to overly dramatize my life, neither of them suggest to me that it would be best if I swallowed reality in favour of spewing forth bombastic grandiloquence. I do myself, present, future and even past, a huge disservice by imagining such a fictitious series of accounts and I compound this error with the slight I show to all of you, imagining that you would find such myth more satisfying than an honest account, that you might - however ignorantly - prefer an edited legend, an air-brushed David. True, some matters here recorded may not align completely as they should temporally, verily, but such errors are unintentional slips, far from conscious, mindful alterations: wherever possible, I am resolved to include as many factual, truthful details as I am able and anything that occurs to me beyond this to omit - everyone knows how much I could potentially include in these pieces as it is, without the addition of superfluous hyperbole!
There has been a small problem attached to this noble intention, to record details as accurately as I am able, a problem that has manifested whenever my entries become particularly delayed, distanced overly from the period that they portray. The problem is time, of course: at the best of times, my entries are delayed some matter of days, perhaps even a week, from the date at which such events actually occurred. At present, the lapse is far, far greater (suffice it to mention that spring has most definitely sprung here, the weather on a quite even keel of soul-lifting sunshine, my latest birthday looming, whilst my blog would, incidentally, have one believe that summer is never going to arrive). How then to convey such complicated details as emotion so late after their initial occurence? How to paint a true picture of such matters from memory, rather than from the site and time of their actual sighting? For me, the key lies in this metaphorical allusion: a painter may never capture the absolute truth of his or her subject. All that a painter can hope to achieve is a celebrated recognition of that subject, a copy if you will. As Plato would have us believe; whilst I talk of truth in this entry, these words are not truth itself, just as the computer upon which I record these very words is not the computer but simply a computer: there are many paths up the mountain and there are many interpretations of any single emotion or event. These multiplicities are not limited simply one to each person, but rather, many to any one incredibly complex human mind. Compound such a plethora with the additional intricacy afforded by time (what I think today may not be what I think tomorrow) and the issue is most certainly confused. Quite simply; I could never hope to record a single thing with complete and utter accuracy, no matter whether I was recording that thing at the exact moment within which it was occurring or - as is the case here - some weeks after its actual happening. The best that I can hope and aim for is a celebrated recognition (or simply a recognition, that would suffice) of what transpired originally: absolute truth, as the adjective implies, is hard to come by and is unlikely to be found here, but what I can seek here is a fair representation of how I was feeling, what I was thinking when a chef shouted at me or a friend made me laugh or a view left me utterly transfixed and breathless and, in its retelling, of how I was feeling, what I was thinking whilst occupied in the recollection of all those things at a later date.
Once again I have explored an entry very different to that which I intended to compile upon sitting down at the keyboard this morning. As seems to be the case when discussing such earnest topics, the entry is once again rather brief when compared to my more habitual offerings. Nonetheless, I shall end here and resume my linear life-tales at a later date.
Best wishes to all!
David xxx
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