I Don’t Care What I Think

Blah blah blah.  We are all broadcasters.  Online, every passing thought quickly caught, laid  endlessly out with the wise words and vapid platitudes of the population .

And here I am, adding to it.

Among the Twitterers I follow are John Cleese, Aristotle and Egg Dog, as well as various economists, comedians and people I have actually met or want to meet.  All of their opinions, proclamations and promotional gubbins are reduced to a tide of epigrams where the late Kurt Vonnegut delivers his wisdom from beyond the grave, comfortably sandwiched in my feed between Belfast City Airport and the Tweet Of God.

And most of it is in the first person.

The Internet is the safe haven of the confessional and the friend of the attention seeker.  Amongst other things, it is full of people voicing precisely that grievance.  I don’t mind saying I sometimes find it bewildering, brainless, stupefyingly dull.  I sort of love it, being something of an attention seeker myself.  But this horror about “The Me Generation”, it doesn’t quite feel right.

Ok, so write about something.  Anything.  What’s the first thing you would choose?  Well, back in school, maybe it was “What I Did On My Summer Holidays”, anything  just to get the kids to put pen to paper.  Later, if ever writing beckoned as a hobby or as a profession, the advice was always, above all…”write about what you know.”  For most people, that means write about onesselves.  As onesself, you are a ready made character that, by definition, must be plausible (it’s something to aim for at least).

Well, I have a new category of weariness that rivals Compassion Fatigue, Metal Fatigue and the rest.  I’m tired of Me.  First Person Fatigue.  I don’t mean I hate myself….it’s more of a….of a stylistic thing.  My opinions, my descriptions of various occurrences and events, my taste in whatever.  I don’t mind them, and don’t feel the need for anyone else to agree with them.  If I did I would get religious, follow the money.   But as a subject, they bore me.  I don’t care what I think.

I started this blog partly as a way of “broadening my audience” (“widening” doesn’t look right somehow) to satisfy the requirements of a touring grant, but I ended up enjoying the words more than the opinions.  The sounds of them, how they go together or don’t, they were something to play with like notes and sounds and gestures in music.  I just think I ran out of steam with Me.

But I do like writing.  It’s still fun, a hobby.  I still find that some ways of saying something sound better to me than others, and trying to find those ways is enough.   The thing doesn’t matter.  And I know I did it again (look how many times “I” and “me” comes up in this blog).  Baby steps though; it’s hard to do this kind of U-turn in one go, like changing your golf grip or your favourite drink.  And really, it’s almost enough to just do this for my own amusement.  But that “share” button is so shiny and attractively coloured, it’s so damn pushable……and….I am hopeful that Sonny Rollins, The Great Gatsby and Egg Dogg might follow me back.