I am her I am me I am this.
Thinking today about the self- about my self- about selves online. My expression of myself to you is mediated by the keys my fingers are battering (one, two, two fingers, too fast), by the backlit screen where I see the Blogger interface and if I look closely in a poorly lit room, where I see my face, indistinct, just a hollow of my eyes, the line of my nose. Thinking about how I can not think about something I put online- a too-personal Facebook status update that betrays the chaos of my thoughts, or photos taken at 4.30am which offended someone who was perhaps anonymous because s/he is a close friend who doesn't want me to know they were offended or who is simply reticent to be linked to their discord- thinking about how that not-thinking might affect someone else. How it might affect me.
Thinking about how this blog is a part of my self, a creation of what I like to look at and a free-roaming run of my thoughts as they run through my fingertips towards your gaze, straight into your mind where you might reject them or incorporate them into castles of your own or where they might be stored somewhere between an article you read last Tuesday and that thing that you needed to tell your sister.
I am intoxicated by the flow between corporeality and words, between ideas and flesh, between my embodied self sitting here in a cafe, listening compulsively to The National and wondering vaguely how abstract I can be in my theoretical writing, and my self as enacted here online, no less authentic for being realised in words and pixels and cyberspace (wherever that is, whatever that means.)
Musing on the simultaneous unity and fragmentation of selves- I can be me and not me at the same time. I can not feel myself, can not like myself, can adore myself and want everyone to know it, can want to change and not know how, can be completely unmindful of me, can feel like there is no 'me' just a blend of matter within other matter, can only see myself in the world and no-one else: what changes in these perspectives but perspective? How essential is essentialism when you think of your self? Am I me and not you because my embodied self is distinct from yours? And what about when I feel your pain from a distance and know something is wrong without being told by you? And what about when we have the same thought and speak it at the same time? And what about when I feel so unified with everyone around me, all experiencing the same event (though perhaps in different ways, though perhaps the same) and I am not just me but I am you and them and all of us contained in one place?
So it morphs, this thing, and it changes my perception. Not just my thoughts about selves and blogging but about myself and how and why I blog. About you and how you ingest me, in a manner of speaking, when you read this.
So that's what I'm thinking today. It's not really tied to fashion as such but lingering behind it all are thoughts of the T by Alexander Wang jumper I saw at Incu the other day and can't afford. The lack of it around my limbs makes me feel chagrin. And so there's that, too.