So the other evening I had a minor rupture in my general patience. I sat here and began considering what about the writing of others can irritate me to such a degree. Generally I suppose it's from being trained to do something I'm likewise trained to train other people to recognize and stop doing. Sounds relatively backwards. To simplify, I was categorizing. Creating boundaries that divide through the crowds of individual voices.
I should know better.
This doesn't mean I've come to some consideration that I approve of that writing that I complained about the other evening. Nothing can make me enjoy the self-absorbed emotional trick-shot of the standard internet fair of writers. Likewise I shouldn't be expected to like their contributions. But I must do more than deploy outrage and rely upon tolerance. I need to accept that others sling verse like sand bags hoping to club the sense out of anyone reading it.
Why should I know better? Well I am trained to be judgmental and critical about literature. That is a fact that only reinforced the outrage I expressed. I should know better because in this education I'm taught theory that explicitly directs me to draw back on my emotional unleashing.
This is something I must accept happens.
Listen, it is similar, I suppose, to other larger issues. Categories create difference, difference spawns Otherness, Otherness is the general root of every cultural problem across the board. I realize that's a simplification of Said's vision of Otherness but I'm not here to write a dissertation in a single go. What I did was Othering a group of people that I specifically categorized making broad assumptions and reducing them to plastic forms that are not real. They are plastic. Molded to what I designated them to be, trite writers with a universal desire to bleed themselves on the page in the hopes of drawing attention. They are not all like this. I recognize that fact. Some are simply wrestling with their voice, some are learning new forms, some are toying with their vocabulary. I should not, given my own position, become frustrated with people willingly writing. Expressing themselves creatively.
They cannot improve without continued practice. That is how you continue to progress in any form of artistic expression.
Unfortunately I seemingly require to slip into asshatism to learn anything further about myself.
Right when you think you've ceased judging others based off various preconceived notions supported by the social structure you catch yourself doing it again. And again. Fucking life, a growth process with a never ending learning curve.