Blogging isn’t easy. Sometimes you have no idea what to
write about, other times you do but it comes out as something else altogether.
Today is another one of those days when I have nothing in my mind other than
empty space and the knowledge that I have so many things that I should be doing that I really can’t spare the time to write about nothing. But today is a Sunday blank, so here I am writing about
nothing again.
I sometimes think that an empty page is like a newborn
child. At first it has nothing upon it – pristine, clean, white and pure – and
then someone comes along, begins to make marks on it and in the process makes
it into something else. Its personality changes with each stroke of the pen,
scribble of the pencil, or stamp of the key. Some pieces of paper become
letters (love, hate, blackmail, complaints), others become lists (shopping, to
do, household budgets, favourite foods), and others become short stories,
poems, essays, music notation. A piece of paper can go anywhere, turn into any
number of things; and so can people.
I guess that what I’m saying is that I wonder if we are the
sum of what others write upon us (how we are treated, the music we listen to,
the interests we take up, our friends, our enemies, where we are born). It
makes me wonder if there is any self at all. Maybe we are simply a mixture of
learned behaviour, experiences, and influences. Perhaps we are just random
marks upon pieces of paper inside our minds.
I wonder if that makes each of us a book?
David Bell on FB
ReplyDeleteNot bad for a blank sheet
Vicky Sutcliffe on FB
ReplyDeletePen to paper.... Nothing again! Wish I had your skills!!