The Psychedelic Tourist
1.14.2004
Exhibitionist, Voyeur...
What have I become? Has the blog changed me, or has it allowed me to exercise a part of myself which was previously hidden or unexposed? Am I an exhibitionist, or a voyeur, or a bit of both? For to start one's own blog most likely means that one has been examining the work of others and I for one am in that camp. Once I hit upon the idea of starting my own blog, I had to look at what others in the cyber-world were writing themselves. And look I did! I found myself randomly opening blogs from the recently updated list on Blogger to jumping from link to link in the individual blogs reading lists. Sometimes I'd jump to a blog and before it's even finished opening, I hit the back button to find something more to my taste. What do I like? It seems the utilitarian blog hits my fancy. Something with a good written word on it, but no flashing graphics, unsightly colours, or hard to read fonts. Then the writing itself, not too childish, open enough to seem inviting, but not too personal. It's voyeurism, of that I'm sure. I've got desires, ideas of what I want to see and find myself clicking away in search of the right hit.
But what am I looking at? The stories of other peoples lives, the tidbits that people want to share, the 'other' side to many. For it seems the blog is a way out for most. A place where some anonymity is guaranteed, somewhere a person can expose themselves in a way which for most of us is impossible in the real world. It's an experiment, but what is being tested? The exhibitionist tendency, the desire to let others peek into the thoughts and desires of oneself. All of us who blog know that there is some chance that an unknown person may find our writing, may comment on what we have put down in this ephemeral electronic medium. Some start out with a desire to reach everyone right away, but I'd guess that most of us would rather start out small. We invite the ones close to us, the trusted few, to view our writing and then let what may happen, happen of its own due course. I toy with the exhibitionist within me, I slowly expose myself, in an ever unfurling line of black on white, the exposure of myself through my words. Have I exposed myself fully, have I exposed the true me, or have I only exposed the smallest sliver of my soul? Time will tell, but an exhibitionist I am, if only in secret.
