I always thought that I only wrote for myself, as a practical means of exploring my thoughts, actions, irrational feelings--the physical world and my emotional state.
How impractically selfish of me.
Of course I write for myself, but when I define who I am based on my shared experiences--the only meaningful way to achieve self realization--then my writing must also be a definition of others, a description and analysis of everyone with whom I interact. That analytical action, my friends, is one of the most precious, fragile and valuable gifts I can give to you and receive in return.
This much honestly, though sometimes comparable to streaking, is quite liberating. You don't have to be a writer to achieve this level of freedom. You just have to be brave, be able to risk contentment and always remember that you're going to fail once in while. When you do, dust off your trousers, note that you're not really hurt and simply smile.
two simultaneous AIM conversations:
A: secrets are the devil's playthings
B: did you send that to both of us?
B: I love you.
B: You know what I'm doing right now?
B: your blog
B: "It's like he's running naked in front of me."
A: Hmmm. That's interesting. And not in the fake way that people say things are interesting.
B: I love reading your writing.
B: If nothing else, I feel like I always have that.
A: Thanks. I'm glad I have a fan.
B: I always have you there.
B: Please take me seriously.
A: .....do you want me to cry in front of him?
A: capital H?
B: I'm about to.
B: Don't forget to smile.
X: secrets are the devil's playthings
Y: well...she IS the princess of darkness!
X: How true. What a whore. ;)
Y: we kicked ass in golfing
X: Pretty much. We owned those whores.
Y: are we really getting dinner out of this?
X: Probably not. Just sex.
Y: ewww....not quite as good