Being a Blogger

As the word "Blogosphere" has found it's word into our vocabulary, those of us who live here have come to understand the world of instant dialogue, of being held accountable for what you say, of public scrutiny . . . we bloggers put ourselves in the fishbowl, inviting others to look into our little worlds, and inevitably form opinions . . .

People have taken different approaches. Many friends now have private blogs, or review comments before publishing them . . . I do not. Just as I breastfeed without a cover, I blog without a cover, too. I believe in the power of words--that they show truth, in more than what is written, but in what isn't written, what isn't said; and in more: why they are written, the story behind the sentence, the emotion behind the judgement. It's all there for the perceptive reader.

It is important to me that I can stand to face the aftermath, that I am accountable for what I say and that I can defend it with logic and reason in the face of scrutiny. (And honestly I feel slightly bad for those who have been unlucky enough to raise my ire, hahaha.)

Anyway, my previous post about balance reminded me of my favorite poem. Sad I am that I must present it here without it's actual formatting, because that is one of my favorite things about it.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, on the balancing act of the writer . . .

Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence