Literature?

The wildfire spread of blogging in all its forms is to me, an affirmation of something I have been convinced of for a long time: that the publishers, producers & critics of the world who decide for society as to what will sell, what is worth reading and publishing & what will see the light of day, are the single greatest reason why just a handful of us are ever allowed to show the world who we are as individuals.

I am a blatant hero-worshipper of so many authours, poets, musicians & film-makers who have captured my imagination along with that of so many others like me and shaped our consciousness with what they gave to the world. But they are the lucky few who got through. One may argue that they got through because they were worthy.

But I know, as you do, that that is not the whole story. There are blogs you never hear about but chance across which move you so much. Just as we know nothing of the countless journals and diaries that people share their most personal thoughts and experiences with. When you create something for yourself and only yourself, it becomes as free from artifice as a creation can ever get. Freed from the chains of judgement, it is pure and unbound. It need not be logical, or relevant or even good. And it always amazes me that out of this ocean of individualism, there must be so many interpretations and perspectives of reality, of the same themes that all of humanity shares with itself. But is that not the point of every piece of published or produced work: to give to the world something ‘original’ which allows you to escape the single perspective that our bodies cage us in into other worlds. To allow to mind to connect with another mind, to share its thoughts, to breathe harshly when it does, to laugh and feel the flutter of a heart, the anger or the bewilderment of the creator.

Literature’s purpose is lost if we allow it to be restricted by another person’s enlightened or empowered perspective what, or what not might fit the definition of the ‘Story’. Why are we so glib about our notion that if a story is worth being told in the way the creator is telling it, then it will out & nothing can stop from being seen, heard or told. Nothing can be further than the truth. And to know that, turn not to the mundane and ordinary that is submitted to the powers-that-be for approval but to the blog revolution. “Push Button Publishing” brings us closer to those ideals of the Story that publishers & producers chase; because those who are submitting the manuscripts are doing it while trying to pass the acid test of “Marketability”. So often, it isn’t the story they really want to tell, but a story which they think, people would want to hear & so they layer their way of seeing the world with clouds and mists of deception, with analogies & parables, or more often than not, clichés and stero-types. Which is why so many of them bite the dust.

And I am angry because I look up at the forbidding monoliths of Approval & Popularity and I fear for my creations. My words, my thoughts, my feelings, made flesh and bone by the miracle of language will be too flawed for anyone to have faith in it. If I ever wanted to share them. Thankfully, for now, I am content with stringing words together just to see what it is that I am thinking. For the blank white screen with little symbols appearing on it with rapidity soothes my soul and takes away the loneliness that I have deep, deep inside. And I know there a millions like me, who do the same, through music, words and images. But if they were to ever want to be heard and if they ever wanted to share their reality with the world, they would have to use all the constructs literature has constructed, to make it more mainstream, more worthy of being called un-ordinary.

At the end of the day, blogging is about putting the ‘You’ out there for the world to see. And no-one can do a thing about it. If they like it, they will return. If they do not, they will not. It tears literature away from the parasitic concept of ‘Approval’ which ties it down.

We are never far from judgement. If not by what surrounds us then by ourselves. And it is not wrong to look for that other ideal ‘Quality’ and look for the world to be filled by it rather than the things which do not make a difference or bring new meaning. But in this constant judging of the quality of our creations, we sometimes forget our roots. We are human, with the same urges, the same needs and ambitions and desires that we had when we first evolved, & similar ones even further back. But it is through the multiplicity of experiences & reality the sharing of these that we are different.

It is one of the things which defines us: The “Story”. So here is one long hoarse shout for the glory and perpetuation of open-source, with all its flaws. And may it continue to rob Literature of its elitist attitude towards that which makes us Human: Our individuality.
Because Marshall Mathers spoke about himself. Not what he thought people wanted him to be.

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