Let me ask you a purely academic question: Hello?
— Dean Blehert

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Dear Reader

This is a new blog for Dean Blehert, who has so much to say that a blog is ideal.

2 comments:

Dean said...

I'm Dean, and actually I have very little to say. In fact, I have nothing to say. It isn't anywhere until I say it, and after I say it, it's gone. Saying it a losing game. However, having said that, I can now say something else.

Not only have I nothing to say, but I have no one to say it too. That is, I have you, if I invent you to be spoken to. But it is the saying that invents the hearer. Having said you, you too are gone, unless I continue to create you.

This is not meant to deprive you (if any you be here with me) of your independent identity. The you I create is simply bait (like a pronoun) to hook a "real" you. I like to have an actually someone reading what I write, though it's a dangerous situation, because -- and this is the odd thing -- to communicate to you (real or invented -- if that's a distinction), I still have to create you, and with a real you there, all neatly created beyond my wildest sense of fashion, DNA and embarrassing secrets, it is tempting to rely on that generous co-creation by you and the universe, and not continue to create you myself.

This is not just a writer's dilemma. It happens, for example, when, after a young lifetime of courting a dream, a young man meets and loves a real woman, so feels he no longer has to create what is, after all, so solid and impinging. So he stops creating his lover and his love for her, and both leave him.

The people we love are with us to the extent we create them there. What we create is a form-fitting niche they fill.

If we create it, they will come.

Of course, more often we create monstrous niches to be filled up by all our dearest monsters.

Well, I've said some things, but haven't had a thing to say all day, nor anyone to say anything to, and, I often suspect, no one here to do the saying. I'm just an innocent bystander who happened into this echo-chamber universe and am bemusedly letting some of the echoes pass through me. Some of them tickle me. I hope a few of them tickle doubtfully-existing you.

Of the existence of the tickling I have no doubt.

Dean said...

Here's my previous comment with typos corrected:

I'm Dean, and actually I have very little to say. In fact, I have nothing to say. It isn't anywhere until I say it, and after I say it, it's gone. Saying is a losing game. However, having said that, I can now say something else.

Not only have I nothing to say, but I have no one to say it to. That is, I have you, if I invent you to be spoken to. But it is the saying that invents the hearer. After I've said you, you too are gone, unless I continue to create you.

This is not meant to deprive you (if any you be here with me) of your independent identity. The you I create is simply bait (like a pronoun) to hook a "real" you. I like to have an actual someone reading what I write, though it's a dangerous situation, because -- and this is the odd thing -- to communicate to you (real or invented -- if that's a distinction), I still have to create you, and with a real you there, all neatly created beyond my wildest sense of fashion, DNA and embarrassing secrets, it is tempting to rely on that generous co-creation by you and the universe, and not continue to create you myself.

This is not just a writer's dilemma. It happens, for example, when, after a seemingly endless adolescence of courting a dream, a young man meets and loves a real woman, so feels he no longer has to create what is, after all, so solid and impinging. So he stops creating his lover and his love for her, and both leave him.

The people we love are with us to the extent we create them there. What we create is a form-fitting niche they fill.

If we create it, they will come.

Of course, more often we create monstrous niches to be filled up by all our dearest monsters.

Well, I've said some things, but haven't had a thing to say all day, nor anyone to say anything to, and, I often suspect, no one here to do the saying. I'm just an innocent bystander who happened into this echo-chamber universe and am bemusedly letting some of the echoes pass through me. Some of them tickle me. I hope a few of them tickle doubtfully-existing you.

Of the existence of the tickling I have no doubt.