Webupon

The writing I have done on the internet over the last 6 or so years has been, recently, pondered openly.  It’s been called digital graffiti — provocative for provocation’s sake, or, at very least, howling into the tempest that is the collective cyber-metaconcious for some sort of approval or acknowledgement.  My writing covers quite a large swath of media — poetry, prose, philosophy, opinion pieces, reviews, the infamous open letter, and even recipes when I cook something worth sharing.  It would be fair to say, in fact, that my experience with writing on the internet is in and of itself a fair representation of all of us non-professional writers and thinkers that have shared their thoughts and words with others via this process of communication that is the web.

My MySpace blog, written largely as a personal diary of events, correspondence, and reflections over the course of several years recently hit 10,000 views.  I also have written for the Rational Response Squad, Urbis.com, and more recently Triond, all merely because I had the inclination to.  I have always been a writer in some fashion or another, and blogging is so accessible that it is almost difficult not to put my thoughts down and contribute to the din in the bazaar of the blogosphere.  I will in all probability continue to write and post my musings.  This isn’t due to the readers I cull (though they are valued and appreciated.  Thanks, readers!), but merely a function of the way I am wired.

…which brings me to my point.  Take away my will to write, and what motivation is left for me to post my various thoughts and opinions on the internet?  Why bother?  Is it merely the arrogance of a failed writer?  Is it a cry for attention?  Boredom?  Lonliness?  Mania?

Nope.

The real reason I post so compulsively is simple.  For the first time in human history, us regular folks have a way to record our thoughts and feelings for all to see.  The internet functions as a historian — in fact, the greatest historian ever conceived.  The internet is a permanent time capsule; dutifully cataloging every piece of an individuals’ life, as long as it is allowed and included.  Life is brevity first, and thoughts and events are infinitely more fleeting than even our short lives.  By recording my opinions and deeds via the internet, I am doing what little I can to preserve myself for future users.  The web is still very, very young — we are all pioneers.  To think that when I was born, there was no internet strikes me as momentous.  Imagine being alive when the printing press was invented, and having complete access to it right away.  Wouldn’t one be abjectly blind and ignorant not to use such a tool?  Well — the internet is my printing press, and even if no one is reading now, someday, someone may find my musings and cull some wisdom, perspective, or at least entertainment written by a contemporary of the birth of the internet…surely the most important development in human history short of fire or farming.

So, please, continue to read my stuff.  Write your own as well.  Don’t waste any bit of your reflection — lest it deteriorate along with the rest of your flesh.  Ideas can live forever.