I had a whole post written out that was a response to a political poll which I found maddening. The gist of the message was this:
The absurdity of thinking that George Bush is more "trustworthy" is daunting. How do you get through to voters who have no sense? America may just deserve George Bush.
I decided not to post it because spreading all that negativity was just making me feel bad. Writing hate and paranoia about George Bush isn’t cathartic. In fact, it may just make me feel worse--about the future of the country, the world, my basic faith in humanity. I really can’t live like that. Anyone who reads this blog is probably not going to be swayed either way, so it doesn’t really serve a purpose. Somehow I just have to stay positive when faced with the weird illogic out there in the real world.
There are certain issues that I’d rather tackle in fiction, namely in "The American Book of the Dead." There I can at least poke fun at certain things. Satire is much more cathartic than hate. It’s certainly less worrisome. Fiction just comes from a different part of the brain--it’s less reactionary, more forward-thinking. This is true even if the fiction is hate-fueled and paranoid. Fiction has a life of its own, a diary does not in the same way. I am glad I have the option.
This is not saying that I’m going to lobotomize myself. There’s a great amount of stupidity out there, and I can’t help but feel it. Really I enjoy writing about it. I’ll still write about some of the ideas that led me to write a book about the apocalypse, UFOs, and other dementia. But without so much fear. Fear is worse than hate, it is more of an uncontrollable emotion. Oftentimes hate is made of opinion. Fear is involuntary.
As you might have noticed, I am a writer who’s very hard on himself. I rewrite myself constantly--in life and on paper. You have to be to a certain degree if you ever want to improve. But you can’t be so much that it’s paralyzing. I usually revise things a thousand times before I show them to people. Here, I’m publishing in real time. John Steinbeck wrote daily journals when he wrote The Grapes of Wrath and East of Eden. I want this blog to be something like that, not a deranged pulpit.
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