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i have been so terribly misguided by preconception.

the kind that is so ubiquitous that its illusory belief perniciously obscures fundamental truths about who we are on a societal scale.

once you see it, the truth is so obvious.

i am a creature of culture and blindness.

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maybe there’s something good about the lack of extreme feelings i have right now

perhaps most strongly, the lack of women

i’m not strung up by the vicissitudes of external loci of control

which allows me to focus a lot more on myself

i can frame this bandwidth of feeling as a positive thing

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i’ve never really used this to discuss events

it’s always been more about feelings

and things abstracted from daily life

or at least the minutiae of it

sometimes i’ll write about daily life

insofar as there is some common theme

that is affecting me regularly

like relationship woes

but that’s still about the feeling

that is pervading my days

and not the specificities of

the days themselves

i do very much write about experience

this whole thing is a catalogue of it

but it’s facets of experience that

are different than “here is a

recollection of things

that happened”

i write all of this because this blog has taken many forms over the years as i’ve grown older, improved my skills, and developed my style. i’ve just been thinking that i might post less now than in the past based on how i’ve come to prefer to write things.

in the past, i was perhaps more spontaneous and unguarded in my posts. that’s because i worried less about legacy, knew less about what types of writing are most effective based on my intentions for a post, and was still shaping the character of the blog itself.

so now i wonder…. have i become so locked in to the character of this blog that i prevent myself from creating meaningful writing?

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i feel like…. like the second bomb just dropped and ended the greatest conflagration mankind has ever known

and now i look out over continents and see ruins, a global citizenry in shock

it’s just…. i feel like that era has ended? like that 8 month epoch of havoc and horror is finally over

that some demarcating end of hostilities has occurred and now i’m left to make sense of what happened and move on

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from magic to tragic

then mystery

is the story of me

from ’18 to ’19

then ’20

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this whole blog is messy and embarrassing and real

it is the undulating story of my journey to figure out

how to express myself as authentically as possible

and it hasn’t always looked pretty or been a success

but there is feeling and passion and life inside of me

and i have this burning desire to record it accurately

whether that is for others to understand or just me

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so there is no coming back from that
which is kind of terrifying

i keep thinking about all of the people
i have met going through life

and for some reason, wondering what
they must have thought

but i always remind myself that it
doesn’t matter, because yolo

and i also keep experiencing this
extreme catharsis

it is so freeing, and i keep having
to remind myself it’s real

like, i will see someone and remember
holy shit, i can be that

no one would care, no one would even
be surprised by it

in fact, people will be expecting it
now that i’ve made that post

so i guess it’s the age of the most
authentic marcus?

i am free to discover who that is
for the first time

or at least i feel free to do so
for the first time