Aesthetics, in prose, is often applied more stringently towards muck and mire than towards those things that are naturally laden with beauty. This seems obvious enough; depicting something beautiful with flowery delight seems contrived and illegitimate and possesses all the weight and seriousness of a childhood tale of wonder.
Finding the beauty in war or death takes a more profound and attuned set of sensibilities and seems somehow more profound and worth aspiring for. As the world continually becomes more civilized, or rather more commonly analyzed and defined, there is a greater trend towards complication in thought and emotion. Seriousness rules the day. Our desire to create something interesting often adds to the depth of our being and, in a way, increases the personal import of our writings and binds them more closely to our feelings. Regardless of the genesis of our thoughts. While this may accentuate our capacity of emotion, it may also lead to inflated and heightened feelings that did not resemble our original thoughts or feelings at the moment our writing commenced.
Suicide notes may be the most common example of this by adding beauty to a ghastly event. Effectively romanticizing it. But also through reinforcing one’s misery and defining it. The ultimate mind over matter scenario. A crude suicide note, possibly along the lines of “Fuck all of you” seems too contrite and petty. As if that would be the summation of all the pain that one encountered. Writing something aesthetically pleasing somehow redefines your character. Adds an implied depth. As if the troubles one faced created a new and compelling dimension to their life that redefined, yet sadly overcame them, and their possibly at achieving something remarkable. It seems quite silly and pointless in a way. A note written to express one’s ability that somehow fell by the wayside due to whatever circumstances. An internally driven note foments on itself, while an externally focused note misses, somehow, the main driving point, that we are in and of itself mainly responsible for our own fate. Though, to some degree, the understanding of our personal shortcomings is what drives one over the edifice.
When my time comes, and it may be quite soon, the idea of a note is compelling not only as a vehicle for expressing my feelings towards those I care for or detest, but also as a manner of determining, for the last time, what truly did matter to me, and putting it out for others to read, regardless of the impact it has on their train of thought. Never quite knowing how you’ve impacted them, for better or worse, as your bones get devoured.
Sort of like a blog…but one without a comment section.
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to be honest, the pathologist spends more time with your corpse than people do with your note. which unfortunately, is swept away by family or an audience you did not forsee.
ReplyDeletehonestly, a blog kind of is like a suicide note. you write like you're already dead, and have the freedom to do so when you're still living. also, a blog typically cannot be used as legal evidence against you. especially if it is an anonymous one. its impossible to police and consequently people really invest effort in it.
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