Trade You for My Privacy Back (12/14/08 Sunday)

Or maybe you're not reading it. Between the exposure to Julie and my beration of the readership, the alienation could be complete. I abhor writing about writing, but I have some kinks to work out if I'm to find direction for the continuation of this project, and I have to do it out loud. I've always despised pandering to an audience, as well, but I found I needed one to believe I wasn't talking to myself. But my audience was imaginary. the chance of an unadvertised blog being stumbled upon was infinitesimal, I thought, so I could safely pretend someone was reading it and I could construct that reader from my own standards: intelligent, thoughtful, sensitive, insightful. Then I found that I had a quite real readership, at least some of which had none of those ideal qualities. What better should I have expected from an internet culture? But I was harsh in my criticism, at least to those readers who might fulfill my standards. An exhibitionist needs his voyeurs, after all, and bloggers are both. I am not a blogger--I continue to maintain that--but I am a writer, and I need readers. That's a difficult admission, and now that it's said I hope I can forget about who that readership might be. The writing is still about me. It's not up to me to entertain anyone with this. You want to be pandered to, go just about anywhere else.

A few days ago, I checked the only statistic concerning the blog that I know is available to me, the profile views. I hadn't looked at it at least since August. Then it was in the low teens, I think. This time it was 117. I checked yesterday, and it had five more (excluding mine). How many are reading? How many following? I thought of adding a widget for compiling followers, but I don't want to collect readers. I just want to know how many are reading. Why no comments, either? (I should ask that of Chris. Wouldn't that have been the easiest way to tell me what he thought? He had my permission to read it. What was he afraid of in telling me his judgement of me? What greater gain was there in telling Julie?) I imagine the average blog reader feels a duty to leave their scent marking--if they want to you to read their blog, and I made it pretty clear in my profile that I didn't care about their blogs. That's not likely to change; I don't write because there's an audience; I write because I have something to say.

What I have to say now, I'm not sure, and I need a catalyst. Consider that Julie was only an infatuation, and it might seem easy to find the next springboard--into what, though? i wonder with a smirk. Where's the next humiliation to strive for? Because, that's pretty much what I do: push a challenge till it's met or it vanquishes me ignominiously: my life. Maybe one day, when my pride has been entirely erased by the multitude of humiliating defeats, my efforts will be ennobled by a success I can allow myself to have and savor. I say "catalyst" now, when I used to say "inspiration." That's the difference now, isn't it? What is that difference? Depersonalization and abstraction. I don't need another infatuation, or even an object. Do I need anything besides something to say? Catalyst found.