Adrift in the stream of unconsciousness

You wake up in the morning with words in your chest, bursting to come out.  They may not make much sense and I’ve been trained to reread and edit, punctuate and make things look and read elegantly, but there’s something so fresh available to me now in writing blogs.

I love the works of Thomas Mann.  I languish in his language, I grasp at his thoughts, I am riveted by the force of his characters and the way he expresses himself.  My God, the way he expresses himself!

But I’m not Thomas Mann and anyway, when I wake up with the urge to write I want to write it raw.  All my life I’ve inhabited a strait-jacket of other people’s expectations: ‘Arnfrid is good at English’, ‘Arnfrid writes elegantly’, but writing blogs have freed me from the constrictions and convolutions of writing things ‘properly’.

I write things on my blog almost verbatim from my thoughts.

I’ve developed a healthy alter ego, I call him Joe Bloggo.  He’s quite ordinary and likes writing blogs about things I feel hot about.  Some of my thinking is convoluted and some of it probably verges on the mad, but that’s me.

Joe Bloggo inhabits a different world, a new world.  He writes bits.  Sometimes they’re clever bits, sometimes they’re bits of rants, but they are always fresh for me and feel like drinking a glass of cool water when I’m thirsty.

Thomas Mann I ain’t, but I feel more like Joe Bloggo, because I trust what he has to say.

(Originally published 17.12.2009.)