Why set a tone?
Every good piece of art should set a tone. Now, I’m not claiming that what I write is “art” or that it fits into any kind of category resembling the Mona Lisa, but I suppose I am here to express myself and from what I’ve heard from artists themselves, that is what is known as “Artistic Expression.” Hmmm. Maybe I am an artist afterall.
I used to write a lot when I was a kid – short stories, poems, ideas for elaborate lies that I could tell about myself or my “friends” at some later, undetermined date; I even filled approximately 6.72 college-ruled spiral notebooks with a story I wrote about the Beatles when I was in 7th grade. I was a writer, you could say. However, I have not been a writer for quite sometime. I think a lot of the joy of writing left me when I entered the world of college academia (read: Helloooo alcohol!) and everything suddenly got a lot more functional.
What I mean to say is that my writing was functional.
Let me tell you, there is nothing pleasant about writing a 5 paragraph essay detailing the similarities and differences between Heart of Darkness and “Apocalypse Now.” (Did I do the quotes and italics in the correct way…? Those rules were always the most confusing, which made no sense, because they didn’t/don’t really matter…) Unless you’re a Joseph Conrad junkie who enjoys really graphic violence and Robert Duvall. Taking a stab in the dark, I’m going to guess that person doesn’t exist. Apologies in advance if I turn out to be wrong.
Moving on.
The point is that my extra-curricular activities changed. I was independent, truly, for the first time in my life. I lived without my parents, in a city 400-some-odd miles away, in the notoriously rambunctious Fairhaven Stack 10, where I didn’t even have a roommate to hold me accountable. Damn! Needless to say, I met a lot of rockin’ and rad people that I still pal around with to this day. I learned a lot about myself and life, and what that meant in my own unique context; I considered ideas and studied theories that assisted in the development of contemporary me. During this time, I tested a lot of boundaries, mostly my own but sometimes others, in order to learn what was and was not “okay.” Sounds silly to you, maybe, but it has brought me to this place in life – and this place ain’t so bad. I mean, it could be the Shangri-La, people! — At least it doesn’t stink in this place. Well, usually not in the winter, anyway… Usually.
In the process of becoming Present-Allison, Past-Allison put the pen down. She stopped writing for herself and resigned herself to writing for assignment only. I mean, there was so much writing required that it could have been predicted. But I was surprised then, and I am still surprised by the ease with which I disregarded a passion that I had once held so dear. Where does that go? Why does it go away? Most importantly – Why I have I not missed it that much until now?
Good question. They’re all good questions.
I guess the long-winded point that I’m trying to make is that I’m not a “writer” and I’m not trying to be an “artist” to express my “feelings” on the “internets” in a way that I feel is “important” or necessary to “humanity” – the point is that I’m a douchebag with friends who know the intrawebs like the back of their hand and they were silly enough to provide me with a web address and the proper tools to access it easily. That’s the point.
I talk a lot, I rarely make a coherent argument, I like to criticize society, I debate constantly, I laugh WAY TOO LOUD, my thoughts can drive me crazy if I let them, I love the people in my life, I am lucky and I do like art.
Do I think that this is art?
No. Fuck no. This is for me.
This is me, livin’ my 8th grade dream of writing for pleasure. I just have to re-learn, is all. It may be trying, but I think I’ll get the hang of it. In this house there are no rules and there is no “tone.” Anything goes. Enter at your own risk. [That's what she said?] Thank you.