===Was commenting in another person’s journal today, and came to a more aware realisation on what this journal thing is.
===It really is not a “journal” in the classical diary sense. What it really is, is a collection of letters we send into the realms of the abyss….we send out these notes of our lives…not complete entries that no one else is to see, which is how a diary is supposed to be…but an ongoing correspondence.
===We sit at our computers putting onto the screen words…messages about what we have in the mind, in the life…and we write it in our own styles, our levels of comfort. We send them out, and see what is out there. Not completely what is the most important things in our lives…not our innermost souls all the time. Only what we feel like corresponding in…
===The journal and the blog are far more like penpals…..or like classical correspondence.
===I think this is why I am more into using it than the e-mail lists…there is that feel to it…something I have wished for in the other forms of communication…that classical feel of letters…true correspondence. This, not email, is the re-manifestation of that current of conversational letters.
===…Which is what a number of us were looking for, and never found in the e-lists, or in regular e-mail communications. They are more like open commons, where we can talk a bit, but it is not the same thing we are looking and searching for. We are looking for a bit of collaboration, but also sharing, and this is a collection of this need….this is that collection of notes into the beyond that link us.
===And this is why I am so freaked when people delete their own comments from another’s journal. It is like that letter was ripped out….the correspondence that actually occurred is gone.
===I should print out my journal and comments into a book for myself…maybe that would help in that. Having it on some nice parchment-like paper, set properly…looking through the letters that one can see between the lines and realise the life that was happening…not all is there, but there is a flow that I am needing, a craving of my own correspondence tale.