Forced

Simplicity Security Self

I've fallen out of touch with my writing self. Opportunities present themselves and I fall with them. It's been a wild year. A year I in no way could have guessed would have moved in this direction. I want to get back to committing at least one entry per month with Emptology. It's something important to me and somewhat therapeutic.

Readers are secondary: my apologies. It's counterintuitive, I know. But there are no ads on Emptology. There never will be. Admittedly in the early days last year I toyed with the idea of embedding tracking into the site's code. But what good are analytics to me? What was I doing other than putting readers into a pigeon hole and serving up troves of data to the almighty Google. It's not important. Emptology exists in an effort to map out my thoughts as well as publish any pieces that have no home.

Editors have agendas.

We so quickly forget this. Everyone is fighting to keep the lights on and absolutely everyone will take liberties when it comes to publishing works that may not meet certain standards, if it means an extra week or month of operation.

Academia is no different. Buzzwords and lazy research can suffice if the name on the paper guarantees a mention at major news outlets. We all have agendas. That's half the problem. Even you, reader, ought to be concerned with my agenda in both writing and running this site. This tiny corner of nowhere on the internet. I can assure you my intent is purely intrinsic, but how will you know for sure? How can anyone know for sure?

Firstly, I don't run analytics code.

I don't care where you're from. I don't care what gender you identify with. I don't care who you fuck or what you do or the color of your skin. The type of device you accessed this page with, the time spent on each page, your age group or your country of connection. It means nothing to me because I don't want to monetize it and I don't want to tailor content (to my own detriment or not). For better or worst, I have no idea who you are, your intent, your thoughts or even if you exist. Comment sections exist but are scarce save a few thoughts.

Second, there are no ads here.

Advertising is poison. But I suppose overt advertising is at least in some capacity transparent. It's the sneaky little product mentions or embedded material or 'sponsored content' that really gets under my skin. You're allowed to be a fan of products: it's the way of the West. But the entire industry built around making you feel different disgusts me. Nothing is perfect. There is no such thing. Perfection implies the end of development. It implies the death of learning. Advertising sells you a perfect life or lifestyle to keep the machine moving forward.

Finally, I don't have a purpose.

My search for meaning is the same as your search for meaning. I might know some things about something, but you might know more. I happen to write relatively well, or rather, with relative ease. I don't reread. I don't re-edit. Sure, it shows, but I feel fortunate in at least the capacity that I don't need to reshuffle and re-edit, rewrite and erase over and over. I know plenty of writers who aren't so lucky. They are brilliant writers, but it consumes them. I write to expunge thought. They write to make meaning. No approach is better or worst, depending on how you value time.

I'm going to commit more time to Emptology. I need to reread the basics too: reinvitalize the idea within. Just because Emptology might be a child from my mind, doesn't mean I live or act in a monkish way around the ideology. Far from it. If anything, it's through mistakes that we learn the hardest, and the hardest we learn forges the strongest paths.

Where have I been since March? I've been working. I've been learning. I have met people who have reshaped the way I think about the world around me. It's stayed with me. I've met someone who both floats through yet commands the world around him. It's like nothing I've seen before since the juxaposition is dramatic.

I have learned this way to live exists, but I have not come close to touching the magic that drips from this person. It's confidence, in part. But it's a level of 'genuine' and conviction that wrapped together makes for something completely different. It's like stripping every social anxiety away and experiencing the world moment by moment. I can't feel this way without chemicals, either due to my own inbalance or perhaps an inbalance (for the better) in this individual. Regardless, it facinates me beyond belief and the interactions have stuck with me like a thorn in the paw.

I'm unable to get away from it. I've put myself in compromizing positions but can't come close to the magic required.

One day, perhaps. Until then, I'll start writing again. Writing without diretion, without profit, and without the need to please any stakeholders. It's a freedom. It's the same freedom I saw in that individual. But my freedom is confined to this site. To this moment of writing. That in and of itself isn't 'freedom', it's freedom within the cage. I'll keep trying to break out, and we'll see.