Rahera (Rach). artist/writer type. political junkie. aspiring human, sometimes. free speech and animal welfare advocate. interests include violent crime & children's books.

kia ora koutou. haere mai, ko toku rangitaki tenei. sometimes i have thoughts that exceed 240 characters. they go here. mau te rongo!


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29/01/19

29 Kohitātea 2019

ok, so here’s the thing. i’ve been trying to be a person with a blog. like, a proper grown-up blog where i make an actual effort to write semi-decently and use punctuation and grammar and shit and i’m just not feeling it eh.

it feels like i’m pretending to be something i’m not and i hate that, no matter what the situation. i was trying to write in a way that other people might read and be like, oh, that’s decent writing — which is fine if you’re writing a book or whatever, or really trying to get yourself out there and establish yourself as a writer (which in theory, is what i want to do) but for me, it feels too stifling, too formal, too public-face. i prefer laid-back stream-of-consciousness style keyboard smashing, like the old days of tumblr, like instant messaging with a friend at 3am. i don’t wanna mentally compartmentalise ‘proper writing’ from how i normally communicate my thoughts. i just wanna write.

i wanna write about my own life and my own mundane problems or what’s going on in my head and how i feel about stuff and what i think of movies and tv shows i watch and i don’t wanna necessarily have to be all witty and articulate and profound about it. i just need it out of my skull and into the universe.

i think what happened was, the first thing i ever posted on this blog got 20,000 hits and 100+ comments and it scared me a bit. i got intimidated by the attention.

i don’t wanna pretend like i’m a person who has their shit together, because i’m not, and feeling like i’m faking it is a huge burden. i don’t wanna do it anymore. i don’t actually care if anyone reads this blog — i think actually i don’t even want anyone to read it. but i still wanna write. i want to write like i resolved to write when the calendar turned over, but i want to do it casually and informally and on this journal-style layout i designed myself from scratch, with coffee stains and ink spills, just like real life.

the month’s nearly over. we’re in the middle of a heatwave. i’m not ready to join this century and i’m not ready to grow up.

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