Why: such an eternal and often unanswerable word that operates also as a question. It implies a meaning and an intent, a cause and reaction, a chain of events. It is basic and elemental.

Some words are laden, heavy, weighted with meaning. Some words once meant deeper things, but the meaning has since been lost, like those words absorbed by the English language beginning with "wr" that indicate a twisting motion, or misdirection. The word writing itself describes a twisting motion of the wrist (which turns and twists to drag the utensil across the surface). Such meanings have since become wraiths, the lost haunting shadows of words.

We type but we call it writing. The physical act described means we're doing something else when we sit at a keyboard and tap away at the keys. What, exactly, are we doing, and why are we doing it?

I feel like Muscle, with his parallel between damaged modes of travel, Sex with his unabated curiosity and burning desire to rant, & Bobby with his question of self & blog & spiral-bound journal have sent my thoughts spinning.

The natural history of the English language is a curious lore, full of speculation and recently applied rules, but sometimes it breaks from the boundaries of grammar and spelling and punctuation. The basic reason for language is to communicate, and people do this now on a personal level the world over not seen before, through their keyboards to their weblogs & the comments attached. It is a new medium, and the word writing means something different now.

I don't often write about writing, because I feel it is reductive, like a snake eating its own tail. Perhaps that's my linguistic analytical blah blah past speaking. Too many poems reduced to too many meanings and double-entendres of the words, too much reading between the lines and ascribing hidden secrets to the phrases. I once declared there are no synonyms although my tongue deceived me and stated there are no cinnamons.

Language is a means of communication, of thought, of preserving information on many levels beyond the immediate and obvious surface. Its uses are deep. Aldous Huxley said written language is the closest we can come to telepathy, and I appreciate this sentiment, particularly in the context of the internet and online journals.

Blogs in particular demand the question, For whom will I write? Consider the possible audience. So, if the written language is the closest we can come to telepathy, and I am communicating with anyone and everyone, what shall I write, and why?

I have been thinking about performance, particularly about dancing, and also about writing. A dance performance needs three things: an audience, a dancer, and music. It becomes a closley coupled rhythm, a means of sharing something beautiful or stirring or thought-provoking with a number of people. It is, above all, entertaining. I have thought much about this, and do not dance to ensnare hearts, or to show off my body, or to fulfill a need for attention. Rather, I dance because I love the music, and the pairing of music with motion, and the sharing of that embodiment with those who appreciate it.

A public journal needs three things: readers, a writer, and words to be written.

Why write? It must be done on an individual basis, and the question therefore must be answered on an individual basis. I write for a number of reasons... To put into words the world I see. To entertain. To try and capture the light like a painter might, to embody the music like a dancer, to shape clay like a potter. Words are a medium to work. Do I always succeed in this expression of art? No. But practice is assisted with critique, and perhaps when I am a toothless old wild-eyed gray-haired lady I will have, at one brief moment in time, made practice into perfect.

Why not?