Someone asked me the other day why I post random musings on my blog, and I found that a readily available answer did not surface.
Each snippet of writing is one that has been inspired by some action or event that has transpired in my life. I can read back through my words. I sometimes find grammatical errors, but more than that, I can remember exactly what inspired those emotions. The words are a tangible reflection of my feelings. Because I don’t express them outwardly without coercion, sometimes I feel that the words are more important than my memory, which has the potential to be easily altered depending on circumstances. In the future those thoughts may be hazy, but whether my writing is in a journal, preserved in a blog, or stored in some other archiving method of the future, I will be able to state with firm conviction what occurred and point to defining moments of my past.
I suppose that there is something compelling about a single idea explored and buried in a treasure chest of memory. It exists because I want it to, and there is a key out there that unlocks the hallways into my mind, construction constantly underway as I attempt to rationalize things in a world that is far from ordered.
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circle of fifths