There’s something very permanent about the internet; computers are not my normal way of working and I’ve spent my life in a litter of notebooks. Pages that can be burned and screwed up and scratched out and painted over. This counts more. This is recorded. This can be shared. This is remembered. I’ve been reflecting a lot on this blog since my last post and I’ve decided to slightly change going forward. I don’t really know why I’m telling you this. At the moment I don’t really feel like my blog is in any way connected to me. I realise that sounds weird because it’s essentially a journal about my life but over the last couple of weeks I’ve been furiously writing and painting and I’ve not been going near my blog because it doesn’t spark my brain or interest me. It’s sort of a diary of what I do, but it doesn’t actually reflect what I am like or what I think. I feel like it’s the least personal of all my projects. My songs, concerts, poems and basically everything I’ve ever worked on have all had a massive, characteristic Laila-shaped stamp, and I feel like this blog is sort of the random excess left over after pouring all my creativity into everything else. It deserves better.
I’m not sure why this is. I think I started my blog to document everything that was going on for people who weren’t with me (such as my family, or friends who live far away) but I’ve never shared it with anybody in my life because I don’t feel like it’s an accurate representation of myself. I wonder if that seems strange to any other bloggers reading or if you have ever felt a similar sentiment? Last Friday I saw an old friend, who unbeknownst to me has been reading this blog (going so far as to show me the “new post e-mail” on his phone). His thoughts kind of summed up how I have been feeling about this blog for a while and have led us to this post today. I’m very private with my thoughts and I guess I’m subconsciously veiling them whilst simultaneously presenting my life. It makes for a fairly distorted lens. I’ve been contemplating returning to my mouldy notebooks, but maybe I’ll wait a little while before I retreat. I don’t want to keep this distance anymore. Maybe I’ll share my lyrics with you, or tell you what I dreamed about last night. I’ve done these things before, maybe I’ll just do more.