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– T O O – M U C H –

Lava Eruption, April 11, 2003, Mount Kilauea, HI, from the U.S. Geological Society

Some authors of blogs actually study how to write blogastyle and some actually instruct those others how to do so. Which is interesting, given the format involved: web logs, they’re supposed to be works of impulse, to be venues for the impromptu. So studying “how to” doesn’t work with the genre, not as to content. As to the mechanics of it, O.K., then, understandable, though I have found that site publishing programs do reveal themselves as to their operations if a user simply starts them up and then works through them, exploring.

My impression about blogs is that they’re the format of choice in which to be unstudied, unscripted, beyond the restrictions of careful academics and not within the realm of any editor, and, certainly not the dreaded, red pens.

Planning, editing and minding road maps for blogs is contradictory to what they are: logs on the web, lines o’data, notes of the daily heart beats, statistics of time and events, the stuff of our human and often assonant lives.

Like relationships, there’s no prepared staging involved, no tape marks to find on the platform, no dialogue coaches to correct your improper use of language, emotional tone and body movements (and there are body movements involved in blogs, as with relationships, although not as easily apparent in blogs, nor as readily admitted to and discussed, as about those in relationships).

Specifically, as with relationship, an author of a blog is alone with his mirrored self, often unable to communicate much of anything that isn’t excessively mundane but is quite significant to the page of the moment. We can all hope for someone else to love and live life with who enjoys reading what we write, or, who reads at all.

Editing, however, is another story. Never agree to author a relationship beyond a written one with an editor who edits what you write — it’s alright to proceed and even marry someone who edits the work of others, just not someone who edits you.

If ever there is a temptation for such a relationship, dwell on Lillian Hellman and Dashiell Hammett for a moment, and concentrate on all that alcohol and all those cigarettes that were integrally aspected, and, apparently, necessary, to their sense of relationship — two people I do not admire nor like, although Hammett wrote remarkable characters on the page — and, perhaps, you’ll be thankfully discouraged from proceeding to try for a life with your editor, or, rather, with the editor who edits you.

The choices we make in life catch up with us, cumulatively, as the years pass, and some of them impart irreversible effects on our lives, hearts and bodies. Someone else’s editing on another’s life, literary work included, makes a difference and alters the author’s voice and the other’s life. Good or bad, it’s done.

Today, it’s too much. The voice from the past on the telephone asked me to meet him in the Bahamas, said he’d send a ticket. I loved this man, but, regardless of how much I love the Bahamas — which is about as much as I’ve read about the Bahamas, having never been there — I’m not going to the Bahamas. What I’ve mostly read about those islands has been, as to my reading, about the ocean around and near the Bahamas, and what’s underneath. Which is about as much as what I remember, with concern, about that relationship.

Had the man suggested meeting under an ocean, I’d have taken him more seriously than earlier today.

But, instead, I focus again on the newly melted environment of Hawaii and the Pacific Ocean and leave the Caribbean to the realm of the past. Whatever lies beneath has been, or will be, slowly but surely usurped by the region’s subduction zone, lost to the intense interior of the world, melted into one, huge, burning core.

Much like words in blogs, archived into the ethereal realm of electricity.

It isn’t love when it tears you apart.

Listening to: “Too Much,” by David GarzaThis Euphoria

You don’t have to tell me, I know every reason why
You feel the way you feel, and you cry the way you cry
But baby, can you show me how I fell so far behind
From the bottom of your heart to the back of your mind

Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
But it’s too late now

‘Cause we’re all going down, yeah we’re all going down
Yeah we’re all going down, yeah, we’re all going down, yeah
Can’t we try to work it out? There’s got to be a way
I’ll give you all of my tomorrows for one of your yesterdays
I never held you down, I’d never hurt you like that
I never thought we’d get so bad at feeling so bad
Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
But it’s too late now, ’cause we’re all going down

Yeah, we’re all going down (x6)…

You don’t have to tell me, I know every reason why
You feel the way you feel and you cry the way you cry

Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
Yeah, but we ain’t going down, we ain’t going down
I love you too much, sometimes I love you too much
I love you too much, sometimes I love you too much
Yeah, but I don’t don’t down, I don’t down down
Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
Sometimes I love you too much
Yeah but I don’t


C O M M E N T S : now closed