I have a tendency to fragment. Bits of me fall off and run away to do other things. Which makes life interesting in some ways, but problematic in others, especially when I want all of me to participate in something together.
I adore the internet. It gives me access to a virtual cornucopia of riches in the form of information, news, cultures, countries, books, art, photography, music, film, events, blogs, etc, and, of course, people. A hundred million billion beautiful stars shining in the world wide web sky. My mind thrives in this atmosphere, it is free from my body, able to fly, soar, and travel wherever it wants to go in the blink of a click. I can take any form I choose, be anyone I want to be, shapeshift endlessly if that is my will and my want.
The internet makes it extremely easy for me to fragment, it quickens the process. In the physical world things move at a slower pace, my bits fall off gradually, sometimes over the course of many years. When I first entered the online universe I was cautious, I lurked, never interacted, and did not create a virtual home for myself here. Then change appeared in the guise of a gift, and before I knew what I was doing, I had not one home, but several. Each one needed decorating and furnishing, which was fun because you don’t have to be practical when creating a virtual home. It can be comfortable and cosy, stark and modern, exotic and richly patterned, old and crumbling, atmospheric, psychedelic, light or dark and all the shades in between, or all of it at once. Each home began to attract visitors, just a couple at first, then a few more, until they were filled to bursting with people, but never over capacity. Initially this was incredibly exciting, so many diverse, complex, and intriguing individuals to get to know, but then I realised that each person was being given a piece of me, like a party favour, or champagne and nibbles, by the me that was inviting them in and hosting the party. Pretty rapidly I ran out of pieces, I had no more favours to give, and no more food to feed all the new people who kept turning up.
When I fragment, I eventually deplete myself, all that remains is a small shard of self which for some inexplicable reason no one ever wants to take, and it never wants to leave me. Perhaps because it is the only part of me which is truly myself. It is the real me. But all of the other pieces feel like they are real too. This piece is an odd little thing. It reflects no light, and absorbs no darkness. It teeters at the edge of an abyss, staring down into the bottomless depths. It is tempted to jump, but it won’t because it is rooted to the spot, mesmerised by all that it sees and all that is impossible to see, the immensity of which is palpably felt. This piece has no fear of being alone, of being the last fragment standing, it knows things about existence which make it stoic, accepting of all that is, was, and will ever be. I, on the other hand, find it very daunting to be left with just this one fragment of myself for too long a span of time. I need the other pieces. And so I wearily retrace my steps to gather all of the errant bits of me that I can find, then I grab my glue gun and stick myself back together. The results of this procedure can vary greatly, depending on how patient I am, and I am not a naturally patient person.
A while ago I had several blogs, a couple of Twitter accounts, a Facebook with a page or two, and a bunch of email addresses. I overdid it. I knew I was overdoing it, every time I created a new internet home, I warned myself against it, but sometimes you have to let yourself run the course of whatever it is you’re doing so that it can reach its conclusion, then you can learn the lesson it has to teach you, so you can evolve, or devolve (I often find it hard to tell the difference between the two). I had plans for more. My mind was high on ideas it wanted to explore and express. I stopped sleeping just to meet the demands of my existing creations. I could feel myself heading for an almighty running on empty crash. I was fragmenting so rapidly that it felt more as though I was disintegrating. The force field holding my atoms in place was failing. But I was having way too much fun to care.
I have had some dark and miserable episodes in my life, so whenever I get a chance to enjoy a light and fabulously carefree spell, I grab hold of it like a hungry maniac and stuff myself senseless. Moments don’t last, they are continuously shifting, one being replaced by another. So, you know, Carpe Diem and I’ll deal with the consequences later.
The inevitable happened. I crashed. On my way down, I deleted myself almost entirely off the internet. I vaporised my blogs. Committed Twittercide. Killed off my Facebook. And reduced my email addresses. I wanted to zap my email to oblivion too, but I have a few virtual friends I love too much to lose (unless they choose to be lost). One of those friends in particular was very instrumental in keeping me connected to the internet.
I took a long break to rest, recuperate, and regroup. Then I returned, because there are delights which can only be found in this dazzlingly crazy place. But this time I want to keep it simple. I want all of me in one place at one time. Easier said than done. The fragmentation appears to be a natural quirk, a necessity which is equally a curse and a blessing. Usually I don’t interfere with it, resist it, or fight it, because it is a juggernaut. But I am going to challenge it.
The challenge is this – 1001 Nights of tumblr. I am a Scheherazade, and each day I must tell a story, write a post, to keep myself alive, whole, because the moment I begin to fragment will presage the death of this blog. That’s a tad overly dramatic, I know, but I’m trying to get a message through my thick skull. I want to discover a new path to take rather than one I have taken before. This challenge could be a stroke of genius, or it could just simply mean that I hold myself together for longer, until the internal urge to fragment becomes so overwhelming that it causes me to explode like a firework. I don’t recall ever doing that before, so it would be different, then again, if it had happened before I might not remember it due to the impact of the explosion. Perhaps I should sell tickets to the show, but I’m not sure when it will take place, if it does at all, and what if I go out like a damp squib instead of a blaze of gory (not a typo).
I’ve already broken my own rules, and given birth to a new Twitter account. But I am only using it to follow a couple of friends (that sounds like so much bs). I’m keeping it locked, from myself more than from others. I’m not allowing myself to join Twit Club just yet, as fun and thrillingly mad as it is, because once I get sucked into it I may lose the plot again and fracture, splinter and fragment away at an alarming pace. The temptation is hard to resist, and I will eventually give in to it, but only if I can figure out a way of doing it constructively. SIGH!
Are there any other fragmenters out there who have tips and tricks they might generously share with me?
*This is one of the first posts I wrote for tumblr. My writing style has changed a bit since then. I was more hesitant in the way I expressed myself then. I just blurt things out now. Writing style aside… my behaviour has not changed a bit. I’m fragmenting again, only this time I hope to keep all the fragments together, maybe make a mosaic out of them. Then take a photgraph of it and post it on deviantART.
An Upturned Soul 