Outlets

I've been having an interesting email chat with a longtime blogger about the journaling process--particularly doing it online, rather than scribbling in little notebooks. I mentioned that I started this blog partly to chronicle my garden's progress, and partly to contribute to the collective community online. I have gained so much from the honesty of his and other journals. Reading of other people's inmost fears, hopes, loves, etc. has helped me feel less screwed up and alone. And some of the anonymity of online journaling helps make that safe. Then I commented that perhaps I've been attracted to online journaling because I'm not singing much -- hardly at all--these days. Yet, I need that connection. Singing for me is about the emotional connection with the listener. It's about opening up that heart energy and sending it out to somebody else. Anything else is a cop-out. I miss that release. But let me be clear: I don't like musical masturbation, which is about release without connection. Like the gratuitous guitar solo... Who wants to stand around and watch some guy wank off for 15 minutes? It's self-serving. For me, the joy of singing is the bounce-back. I'll tell you a secret about me. You send back "message received." You nod. Maybe you smile. Or maybe you turn away embarrassed. Whatever. For me, music and art is in the crackle of recognition. BZZZT! Hee. Now I just amused myself, because in my pretentiously cute ending I reminded myself of a bug zapper. BBZZT! One more extemporaneous ramble, vaporized before it made somebody itch.