I was a little wary of continuing this in London: “Oh shit – don’t put what i said in your blog.” “Don’t write about me doing this please.” We are leery about people who write things, as if they are trying to expose us. I suppose some of them are, but Privacy generally is a huge issue these days because it’s shredded. We all live part of our life in public, and we all have different views as to how much of ourselves we are willing to let others see. Some people show their hearts and say too much online in long tirades that they delete hours later. Some tell you about all the wonderful things they do and how special they are, but the children dying I feel sad for them I do, I me me me. Others say little and put a picture of a dolphin up on their profile, but share political articles and an occasional landscape photo. The dolphin people won’t want to be the subject of the overshare. The “wonderful” person does. The “wonderful” person won’t want to spend the day with the dolphin – they’ll get no publicity. The overshare won’t want to hang with “wonderful” because it’s emotionally exhausting. It’s like a notional game of scissor paper stone. “Overshare, narcissist, introvert.”
To a large extent I am pushing my own oversharing narcissist boundaries here. I was terrified when I started doing this that my friends would start attacking me for oversharing, or mizzling in corners about narcissism. Those of you who have had big experiences with me since I’ve started writing will know that, although I am trying to be as truthful as I can, I’m not vomiting the entire contents of my heart here. I’m employing discretion, or at least trying to. Sometimes it’s been very difficult, when the whole day has been about an interaction that’s private. I spend ages trying to work out how to express the day without detailing the events at its heart. I will continue to try to be as discreet as I possibly can. Jizzy pants guy is an exception, but I know him, and I sensed he wouldn’t mind. If YOU were to show me the jizzy pants that YOU sell, rest assured I wouldn’t post about it here. Jizzy pants guy messaged to say he loved the blog.
There are plenty of positive side-effects to writing this, but this aspect is a troubling one. I understand how actors are image conscious – perhaps we have to be. But there’s no need to censor yourself or your fun if you run into me. Please. I’m not Nigel Dempster. I’m writing this blog for complicated personal reasons.
First because it’s useful for me to have something I have to do every day.
Second because there is nobody I am accountable to, and doing this forces me to be accountable to myself. If I waste a day I have to write about it: “Day 81 – Spent the whole day in my pants in front of the telly.” I’m not writing that post.
Third because I’m using it to gain confidence and proficiency in this sort of writing.
Fourth because it helps me keep in loose touch with people who I don’t see frequently enough.
It’s not here to promote me or stitch up my friends. If anyone feels I’m blowing my trumpet, grab it and shove it up my arse. If anyone is insulted by me here, then I’m not doing my job properly.
Our sense of privacy is shot to hell. We’re aware that if someone videos us it might go viral. In LA a guy told me a story about how he was sitting in a cafe and a hyperactive idiot with stupid hair bounced in, looked at his baby, took a video of it, posed with it shouting “Cute baby” and ping ponged out. Twenty minutes later he gets a call from Australia. “Were you just in a video with X when he said “Cute Baby?” The video was on the other side of the world on the page of some Instagram dork. I looked him up. He has astronomical numbers of people following him. He pinballs around saying vapid things and naming stuff. “Ice Lolly!” His reach is vast. If we have an argument with him at a bus stop, millions of people will immediately hate us and call us “Shouty Man” or whatever he calls us. So we might worry that we have to be cautious. As soon as there’s a camera in our face we don’t know where it’ll go. I remember instantly monitoring myself when an insane Trump supporter started filming me.
If we hang out and you tell me that every night you dream of shagging goats and wake up aroused, you won’t see a blog post entitled Caprihorn the next morning.
Today I haven’t written about my day at all. Rest assured it was busy. No TV in pants. I wrote this first thing in the morning after I switched around some photos as a friend didn’t want me to put their image in my blog. Which reminds me – I’ll need a photo. I call this piece “Dog in a gong with pants and dead flowers 1 – The Awakening”.