Tits. This entry started as a short manifesto on the word ‘tits’ and the sorts of breasts that it elicits in my mind when I encounter it. It was kind of funny, riddled with double-entendres and awful puns, and at the same time somewhat revealing as to a small portion of my mental process. Then, in a moment of self-censorship, I erased the whole paragraph. Not a major loss to the literary world, but worthy of mention if not only for the sake of tying the body of this entry to the title.
Self-Censorship. I wonder about this mental phenomenon, although I suppose it could describe an entire array of internal decision-making among humans. For me it strikes in a variety of ways. When I’m choosing my words carefully in formulating a scorchingly passive-agressive email it becomes a kind of game for me. Often the letter or email begins with a fast slamming of keys and an incredibly base and unrestrained divulgence, full of slanderous claims and overt and creative name-calling. From there, my friend the delete key and I, begin to play our game of polishing the turds. Essentially it’s a bit of fun psychological camouflage on the original sentiment in such a way that it reads as a friendly, polite and helpful little note that causes the reader to realize what a shit-snorting asshat they are. At least I like to think it has that effect.
The other kind of self-censorship that I personally experience revolves around a “Will this make my Mother proud?” kind of reflection. It occurs on any creative item I make that may become ‘public’, where that public might well include my mom. Hi Mom.
Narrative. The concept of linear narrative bothers me but also I am OK with it. It is a conflict for me. On one hand it strikes me as a primitive method for communicating on the other I can’t think of anything that can replace it in what it does. The problem is that what it does IS primitive – so I guess it’s perfect for the job.
Ego. From an absolute point of view, everything written here is gibberish.
