I’m split. Part of me wants to do something; the other part wants to relax and think, taking stock of what’s happened and what it signals for the future. Let’s compromise: I’ll write something, something that won’t make sense, but that’s not the point.
It feels like the end of the school year – all your work’s done, there’s nothing left to do after putting all your effort into something that’s now reached its natural conclusion. Feelings of accomplishment mixed with exhaustion, loss, finality but also possibility.
It’s too early to say whether or not I’ve been entirely successful, but the signs are good, even though that’s possibly not the vibe I’m giving off in this. Again, that’s not the point. What I set out to do, I think I’ve achieved. That didn’t come into clear view until late in the process, appearing only gradually and in different forms until, layer upon layer, in the final moments of the whole thing, what I needed to do and why I needed to do it became evident. It finally all made sense.
Last night I could have died. It wouldn’t have mattered. Smashed by a succession of illnesses and severe sleep-loss, it was one of those rare moments when you’re so fucked you realise there’s nothing left to do because you’ve already done everything you set out to do. Your meaning’s been realised and your life’s seen out its course. This never lasts long and it suggests life’s some sort of road with staging posts, not uncomfortable places to be while they last.
This year – this staging post – was always going to be difficult, though. It’s 20 years since I first started having it really tough in life and, though such anniversaries shouldn’t really mean that much, we’re human, and we often replay key moments. Within that were a whole host of more recent memories, clouding my mind even further for not far off a decade. And yet, last night, because of how things had gone, it all made sense, it was all packaged up and put away once and for all.
Different place, this world, now, with a different outlook. The structure I’m putting on these events makes them all look almost pre-determined, as if there’s some great scheme of things, some intelligent design to it all. Maybe there is. I don’t know and I’m not sure it matters. What I do know is that life’s different all of a sudden. I’m still me and the experiences I’ve had are still part of my make-up, but it’s an evolved me where the events have taken on a new meaning and place in life. ‘That Moment,’ my last post, wasn’t what I thought it was at the time. Again, the layers were being revealed as something which would become much more substantial and important to me. Now that post means something different, something better.
I don’t use a lot of the social media I use for the usual reasons. I don’t see that kind of use as serving much of a purpose. Social media at the moment isn’t really going anywhere and we seem to be in some sort of limbo. I’ve also not got a lot to benefit from in building a ‘social media reputation’ or in fostering primarily networked relationships.
Some time ago my usage evolved into me going to the ropes and using social media in a way which suited me and what I wanted out of it. There’s not much conversation on many of these networks, so I use my imaginary friends instead. Because my Twitter account is so bad in number-crunching, status-seeking terms, I’m generally blocked or otherwise ignored, certainly not taken seriously most of the time, if at all.
Better, then, to have an imaginary audience, one which performs for you. My imaginary audience isn’t too petty (but just enough) and has a highly-developed bullshit detector. It’s knowledgeable in a variety of relevant topics and sees things, not in a temporary fashion, but as part of an ongoing process, leading somewhere. It sees social media, in the short and the long-term, as a tool for personal and social change. My imaginary audience, obviously, is me during my better moments.
I’m not entirely sure why, but I tend to throw out a lot of highly personal stuff – stuff which my follower-count suggests I shouldn’t in the manner in which I do. But that’s not enough to stop me from doing it. It’s become almost a compulsion, partly because the rewards have been so worthwhile over time. I don’t throw around everything – there’s a few things even I wouldn’t – but enough to be a cause of embarrassment, if I saw it all that way (I don’t, though I’ve got to take into account other people can).
It’s a bad strategy for social media use as we’ve come to think of strategy. So bad, I’m probably the only person who’ll ever use social media in such a way to talk to himself. That might end, now, as I’ve reached some sort of conclusion with a particular approach to life. If it does, I’ll miss it a bit, though I’m sure other approaches will take its place, as they tend to. It seems to have served its purpose, now, and if it’s time to move on, then it’s time.
Does the same apply to other things? YouTube, for example? I don’t know. I’m once more starting to make videos I actually like, videos which are getting closer to my voice, rather than one too heavily reliant on existing media influences. That comes across in how I’m talking to camera, too, as the power of the lens and the world behind it have balanced, with me coming more to the fore from beneath the avalanche of memories which has buried too much in the back of my mind for too long.
I can still vividly remember the day, about 20 years ago – the where, the when, the who – when I told a friend I was getting too cynical, pretending I didn’t know why, but understanding all too well that things were going drastically wrong. Even without, at that time, a thorough understanding of my local culture, I somehow knew they would in ways which told me that in small, cut-off communities, crazes around archaic subjects like witchcraft and wizardry may have changed their overt subject matter, but the characterisations, bizarre beliefs and motivations retain their ability to consume even while their victims are convinced of their sanity and modernity. The craziest of times would last a long time, fuelled by the type of characters you can possibly imagine.
You don’t want to hear it. You really don’t. Even if you did, you wouldn’t believe a lot of it and no-one would admit enough to verify what I can say about it all. But I no longer need to verify or even tell it. It’s done. The craziest of times were over a long time ago and in not processing it all properly, they lingered in my memory, retaining a sort of relevance. But in taking the longer route, I now understand it all even more, and in exposing their true meaning, they’ve lost their power to haunt. They’re very dead ghosts.
There. There’s a bit of writing. I’ll post this. A few people might read it and I’m even dumb enough to check the stats. Double-figures mean party time, let’s put it that way. It’ll probably read bizarrely, but my imaginary audience will work away on it and all the rest of everything else to seal in place this peculiar, but successful method of progress, which is opening up the world again on more peaceful terms. For the first time in about 20 years, I can feel the soil beneath my feet and, if only you knew, you’d know that that’s some achievement.