There’s an ancient kind of writing called “apocalyptic literature.” The basic idea is that certain events are infused with greater, even cosmic, meaning. A prime example of this includes The Olivet Discourse(s) and Revelation. Much misunderstanding regarding apocalyptic literature stems from the inability to understand what apocalyptic literally means. It doesn’t mean “end-of-the-world” kind of stuff, nor is it material to be taken literally. The problem with the English language, I think, is that we think in too stark of terms. When it comes to writing our thoughts, we take a hardliners approach: spell it out in detail, make it black and white, etc. How many of us when writing or thinking about our day take the smallest moments and infuse them with meaning (good or bad)? Because we both (a) don’t understand apocalyptic literature and (b) tend to take such literature at face value, misunderstandings and, important for my purposes here, misinterpretations, are common-place. Now, I wouldn’t say that I write on this blog in apocalyptic fashion; but at the same time, my writing breaks away from the simple crisp-&-stark terms so common. And the reason is two-fold:
First, I live in constant awareness to the story my life is writing (as a writer I think through things from a narrative perspective rather than a systematic one, unlike many people). As someone who enjoys pondering and contemplating, my awareness of my life’s ongoing story infuses events with meaning, which nearly always leads to speculation, conjecture, fantasy and illusion. Hell, half the mistakes I’ve made over the past five years are because of this. Nevertheless, I think it’s a good thing, and I know it’s not something I can stop (and believe me, I’ve tried).
Second, I look at things—events, experiences, situations & circumstances—from a variety of angles; this abstract process of re:examining things often leads to an overarching perspective on the things, and there are series of meta-narratives constantly intertwining and unweaving that create the ultimate overarching perspective (which one would call a worldview). This way of thinking fleshes itself out in my journals; and sometimes my journals end up on here. It’s like this: I generally look at things from two sets of lens, each overlapping but drawn at different angles. There’s the “surface-level” lens, examining the subject from multiple different angles without infusing them with meaning; then there’s the “deeper level” (note: I’m making this up as I go, and I know that if I spend too much time trying to figure out a witty name for the second level, I’ll lose track of my place in this winding rabbit-hole logic)… Damn, I think I lost it. Okay, yeah, at the second level I infuse meanings to the events (whether knowingly or unknowingly, most often unknowingly). And when it comes to writing (such as in my journal), I blend the two together (because event & meaning are intrinsically connected) into an image of the thing; and this image can either inspire hope or sadness, or any other host of feelings (though most often those two), and I invoke the use of imagery, symbolism, similis and metaphors, and figures of speech to convey the event along with its given meaning carrying it forward. This manner of writing, when taken literally, can lead to all sorts of conclusions. Take, for example, something I wrote about a month ago:
Our hopes and dreams should not blossom into an irrational or illogical state-of-being. How strange it is that love acts as a poison, spawning irrational fervers and fostering childish illusions of the world? Logic must not be tossed to the wayside.
My entire point being: “Being in love with the wrong person sucks ass. But it’s not the end of the world. Grow a pair and get over it.” The context of all this involved one of my Cincinnati pals talking about some guy she was head-over-heels for, “in love,” and he didn’t want her. Some people reading this, however, might jump to conclusions about me as a person. Case in point: a year or two ago someone read something I wrote on here and told me to (and I quoted him above) “grow a pair and get over it, stop being a pussy.” I literally laughed out loud. When it comes to things like “love” and “romance” and all that, I’m about as cynical and skeptical as you can get. My advice for difficult situations used to be all sympathetic and caring; now it’s blunt and honest, and because of that, few people ask me for advice. I tell it like it is, and I force myself to come to grips with reality, and sometimes this, too, comes across as highly emotional, severe, intense. And the funny thing is, I’m never that severe or intense about it “in real life.” The severe and intense posts over the last couple months, for example, haven’t come about as I’ve curled into a fetal position and lamented my life; no, they’ve come about in jokes and stories, love and laughter. The point of all this being: someone may assume to know the way I’m thinking, how I’m feeling, and what I’m going through by reading through this blog; but I’m a writer to the core, and one who loves to use non-literal descriptions and atmospheres in my writing, so they’d better keep that in mind. Or else they run the risk of totally misinterpreting me, and the result is that they have a skewed image of me based upon their misinterpretations, and that’s never fun for anybody.
