Commodious in Purpose

I like to write, and I know that is a point that I have iterated many times in the past. Let me, however, explore a different aspect of my writing, with you, today. To be specific, I wish to write of why I write for this: The Unconscious Rambling of a Madman. I really can't reiterate enough times that writing is one of my biggest passions, even when it is the last thing on my mind or the first thing that tires me. And this Blog, it is an outlet for that urge to write; moreover, it is a place for me to write without stipulation of subject or guidelines to follow. Personally, I refer to here, in my head, as U.R.M., because almost everything I put up starts off as the thought, "Urm . . . "
This Blog serves a purpose for me, though, and it is something that frequently helps me sort out certain things. You see, without any need to follow a predetermined procedure, this has quickly become my way of figuring out exactly what the shape of the pattern that I think in is. What comes out of my imagination or conscious is what is predominantly present on it, at the time; therefore, what I get is a physical manifestation of my thoughts. In other words, this is my brain, in words.
Granted, I by no means wish to seem to be claiming that this is everything that goes on in my head. My biggest gripe with the modern, online-journal/weblog phenomenon is what I once saw described somewhere as "haircut entries" -- trivial descriptions of trivial events in a trivial format. In my opinion, it comes down to the fact that there are thoughts that we all have, undeniably, which really don't deserve communication. Weblogs commonly become a medium by which it can be seen that not everyone agrees on that point -- not necessarily wrongfully -- and you get sites full of HTML adaptations of a teenage girl's diary. Novel, and quaint, in their own special ways, but not something I like reading.
So, when I think to myself, "Today's weather has been especially pleasant, but I am not feeling all that joyous about it due to the hardships of class and my relationships with peope," I tend to keep it to myself -- despite having just done the opposite, but it was for the sake of example. The thoughts that float around in my conscious and eventually make their way out through my hands manipulating keys on a keyboard are ones which strike me as interesting and deserving of being shared. Peculiar behaviour exhibited by human beings, society, or enraging patterns therein, those are subjects I feel should be written about and enumerated. Either that, or my political declarations or manifestos on philosophy and psychology may be what I care about describing, at the time. Occasionally, I fancy myself a poet or fiction-writer, and I'll exercise my meagre talents at those facets of literature. And my head is an infinite fountain for opinions, so that never ceases to be a viable topic of conversation for this Blog.
Anyway, I have slightly digressed from my original point, which I will now return to: the benefit of this Blog for me. Through the two years (I am quite amased it has been so long) of putting up seemingly spontaneous and random entries, I have come to realise my thoughts and concerns exhibit a visible pattern. This can be expressed in either terms of methodology or emotion, I suppose: the methods of review, rant, ramble, or ridiculousness, and the emotions of disgust/fascination, anger/indignation, melancholy/wistfulness, or plain silliness. Nothing is really one-hundred-percent precise or constant about this, but it seeps through enough for me to have noticed it and, thus, taken the time to contemplate it.
Every once and awhile, I wonder if I suffer from some form of Attention Deficeit Disorder, because I lose track of what I am thinking and doing and tend to mentally wander. Regardless of my opinion on the validity of the existence of ADD and implications of it, I can grow afraid of being too disconnected and schizophrenic. And it's not that I have trouble getting things done; when I set my attention to something, it doesn't stray unless I am simply exhausted or have reached completion of my goal (which may very well just be part of a whole). It's most likely just a time management issue, which has never been a skill I excelled at; it's hard to care about something you don't believe in, as it goes. But, what does any of this have to do with this Blog?
As a practice, I sometimes read over the archive of this site; not always for revision or editting purposes, but just because I can. Looking back and taking stock in what I have said and what I have professed keeps me aware of what I considered important at the time. It keeps me aware of the pattern of my thought process, and it keeps me aware, to an extent, of who I am, when I am unsure of my identity. I am a writer, and this is my book. Were it to be published, it would be categorised as stream-of-consciousness and it would probably receive harsh reviews, fall under the carpet and be classified as too "artsy," by the general public. I forget all of what I write, and rereading it gives me a sense of my own style and diction. Perhaps it is a bit immodest, but I do find myself amused at old phrases and turning of words, and I take pride. This Blog is not who I am, but it is part of that. As such, it is important to me and a reflection of the rest of my identity, serving as a looking-glass for retrospection or introspection.
Why do I write, here? Because I like it. What do I write, here? Whatever I want. Who am I? The author.

Adios.