Weaver: Have you ever wondered why I created this blog?
Voice: To be heard.
Weaver: Yes, of course you know that. But do you know why I created you, specifically you, from this blog originally just being a person ranting about life on their own?
Voice: To have somebody to talk to?
Weaver: Yes and no. It was to have somebody to talk to, but mainly to have somebody to listen. I mean, with my journal and the original blog (which was just an online journal), I knew that it would probably be read. But you, Voice, are the ultimate listener. Before you gained a life of your own (which was scary, incidentally), you were there from an idea I got from a site I used to visit all the time. You were there to listen and ask the right questions for me to give the answers.
But then I needed more than that. I needed somebody to talk to, and somebody to talk back. And that's when you gained a life of your own. But lately I've been needing just... somebody to listen. Somebody you can rant to. But ranting in a journal is better for the insane, uncontrollable feelings that take you over. They don't have to make sense. They can be petty or small. That's what the Jordan-party-rant was a few weeks ago. Really, if I could take it back I would, because those things aren't meant to be seen by everybody in the world. Why? Because they seem stupid afterwards, or at the time to other people. They are simple and petty.
But the little, subtle things? Those are the biggest problems. Those are the things that niggle in the back of one's mind. Those are what you, Voice, were created for, at the foundation of things. Because you bring out those little things, which is essential to be healthy. And I could never do that before. I held it all inside, all the time. I only let out those bursts of emotion, those journal-rants. But you developed a mind of your own, and found that true purpose that you were created for. To lance those festering, hidden, wounds.
You're what, I realize now, I crave on a basic level. So basic that it's more than a want; it's almost a need. To know that somebody is listening. To be able to rant without interruption, but with the knowledge that somebody is listening. That somebody places enough importance on your niggling problem, or even on you yourself, to listen with 100% of their attention. Not that they/we always do. But you care enough to pretend, at least.
You, Voice...You're the Voice in that grey misty place of doubt in my mind. You're all the nameless people who read my blog. You're my best friend, in a way, and you're my worst enemy because you're not always on my side and you know too much about me to be trusted.
Lately, you haven't said much. That's because I don't need your conversation right now. I just need to know that you're there. I need to know that you're listening, and you are. Because that's what you do.
Voice: And I am a voice and not a being because no being can be all that.
Weaver: It's not the fact that no person can be all this that drives me nuts. I don't expect that in anyone. But close friends (at least in girls. usually) tend to acknowledge the unspoken Rant Rules. And those are often what separate a friend from a close friend. A friend can talk about problems with you. A close friend will let you rant about a problem that affects you deeply (or anything, really, that affects you deeply) for as long as you need (within reason) before talking about said problem and discussing it. They will listen, or at least give you the illusion that they're listening. They will (if needed) nod and agree. But they won't add anything to the conversation, they won't argue, they won't do any of these things. That comes later. Because you can get the perspectives and arguing from anyone. But not everyone will let you tell the entire story--and not just tell it but rant about it--beforehand.
This is a very private thing because it can lay bare deep emotions, so you cannot rant to just anybody, either. But most importantly, by allowing yourself to rant freely and fully about a topic, you can be granted catharsis.
Warning. English nerd rant ahead.
Catharsis, for those of you not English Nerds, is a deep emotional cleansing, usually in a tragedy. See, in a tragedy the hero is brought down to the lowest of low, but once he has been stripped of everything, he is free to 'rise again from the ashes' so to speak. Start anew, and live again. And the audience too, feels catharsis. In a good tragedy, the hero isn't pitied by the end of the story, necause even though he's had all this horrible shit happen to him (and he brought it on himself, usually) he gains something purer from the whole situation. And because in this way, he has effectively won, he is usually granted death, or rather release from the hell that this level of consciousness has become for him. You know, historians argue over the definition of catharsis because Aristotle never defined it. But really, both sects are right. Catharsis is both the cleansing of the tragic hero, and the cleansing of the audience. Jeez. I'm in English 30 pure, and it took me all of four seconds to figure that out. These people have been at it for hundreds of years. How sad is that?
And catharsis, of all the tragedy characteristics, is really what separates the good tragedies from the bad tragedies. Hamlet, for example (and indeed, all of the Shakespeare tragedies I've read) is an excellent, excellent one. Probably because of Hamlet himself, because that's a whole other rant altogether. Did I mention that rants aren't always bad? But the ones about bad things are the ones that cause the most problems, generally speaking.
Oedipus Rex, which I just finished, is also an excellent play. But I don't think that it's the greatest tragedy. I believe that in its time, it definitely would have been a great, but as it stands in the modern age, the are so many little things that' dont make up, that it doesnt' quite have the proper effect.
Anyways. Enough of the English Nerd ranting.
So yes. You can be granted catharsis. You can be purged of the negative feelings somewhat, like lancing a festering wound. I mean, all that icky sick pus coming out isn't all that pretty, but would you really like to keep all that icky pus inside of you? Creating more pus and growing beneath the skin?
I think not. And if you disagree and think that gross pus is a good thing to have inside of you... get mental help. Please.
These hidden wounds need to be hit even if the rest of you feels fine and dandy. I mean, I had a great week. No, I had an absolutely amazing week. Not because the events in it were so much better than other weeks (because although they were better, they were only better after my week was already considered amazing) but because I wasm and still am, at peace with myself and the universe. And I'm as serious as it gets about this. Wholly and completely flowing with the universe. I know the true meaning to life and can see the beauty in the madness.
By changing yourself, you can change the world. Once you understand the world, you become one with the world. And once you're one with the world, you are the world. And once you change yourself as the world, you change the literal world. Your world.
Voice: That was not the point you were trying to make, however.
Weaver: Indeed. The point I was trying to make is that even when you're at peace, as I am, and had an amazing week, there are always things that irritate you or drive you insane or depress you. And while these don't disturb the peaceful foundation, they're still there, ready to start festering away. If you let them fester enough, they will destroy that peace. Or at least distort it in some way.
They can affect you so badly because they do affect you so badly. To begin with, that is. But you shove them to the back of your mind, where they linger. And in order to acheive the catharsis that will allow you to not only enjoy the positivity, but possibly to seperate yourself enough to solve the problem to a degree, these nagging little things need to be presented in freedom and completeness, if that's a word.
Voice: And what's the cause behind this particular rant?
Weaver: When I attempted to rant to Will earlier this eve/morn, he kept interrupting me and arguing with me about things. And then he'd interrupt when I tried to explain why I didn't want him to 'try to relate' as he calls it events from his life to those of mine. Or randomly asking an unrelated question. And although I listened and understood when he told me that he had indeed listened to eveything I said, despite his tendencies to mention everything that came to mind on MSN, he could not understand the concept of the Ranting Rules. This was probably because he would interrupt me every single time before I was done--including the final time, where he tried to start a my-life-sucks-more-than-yours test and fnished by telling me that my life is great compared to his, and I have no reason to complain about it. Thus missing the point of everything I attempted to tell him, and everything I just attempted to tell you.
But just his sheer obstinancy and idiocy was not enough for me to spend hours putting these concepts into the internet.
Voice: Then what was?
Weaver: It was the same thing that prodded me to create you, and come to think of it, the same thing that made the little girl from The Ring kill all those people.
It was the desire to be heard.
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