Déjà vu

Most of the time, when I’m composing, I go through a recursive process of composition before I finalize the piece. First, I grab a piece of scrap paper and jot down a reminder to actually do the work. Next, I write down words and phrases to get the juices flowing. Then, I type those notes in TextEdit and work on expanding them. Finally, I copy and paste the text into a Word document and make it complete, fiddling with it until I feel it is as perfect as it’s going to be. Each time I write and rewrite, my original ideas are opening themselves to mediation.

I guess I have to admit now that I can’t control everything. I think I can--and I certainly try to--but that doesn’t erase the fact that my experiences (creative writing included) and perceptions will always be corrupted by the influences of another media. Let’s think about this within the perspective of reincarnation. I believe that déjà vu is a brief view into a person I’ve been before—same soul, different body. This belief synchs up with my perception of collective memory; the human race shares thoughts, ideas and experiences through some intangible cosmic network of memories. When I write for the Internet I love the idea “that I am not the only one writing.” It’s exciting to think of my contribution as one little meatball in a big pot of wedding soup.

Enough metaphors. So, what are the tactile sensations of writing in online environments? Usually, I feel “blank” when I write for the net. I zone out on the screen, the glow pulling me in. I notice that by the end of the day, I’m hunched over my desk, with my face about a foot away my laptop. I block out everything around me, only focusing on the seventeen inches of Apple in front of me. Sometimes, I feel hollow, like I am the only one writing—in that I ask myself, “Who’s going to read this? Will anyone? What’s the point?”

Maybe I’m missing something here. The feelings I just described would indicate that I actually have more control over the Internet than I do over my pen and pencil. If I “shut off” the world and focus only on the blinking cursor, my experience becomes more controllable in a sense. Though the Internet makes me feel sort of cold and sterile, maybe that’s what life feels like without distractions. Not cold, but situated. Not sterile, but clean.