Writing By Accident & Surrendering On Purpose
Reflecting on three weeks of consecutive writing for Blaugust, I explore the tension between writing by accident versus on purpose. Through correspondence with Unstory and the IndieWeb carnival theme of purpose, I contemplate the accidental nature of my blogging journey, the finite fragility of life, and finding meaning in the surrender to compulsion rather than the pursuit of purpose.
t's been a while since I allowed myself to just pour freely onto the page. I admit I've noticed myself getting rut-barrelled into the ground again—getting caught up in the formula of writing, standardized. The desire path becoming the only road taken. Has it been good? Maybe. But the sputtering is present and becoming louder. Oil leaking from the engine.
It's the 20th day of August, and the 21st day I've written consecutively. I've always taken a day or two break each week for the past year, but I've been pushing myself to write each day of the month for Blaugust.
Surprisingly, there have been a handful of good posts, in spite of the endless churning. But when I find myself falling asleep each night, there's a recurring nebulous thought. Rainbow-shaded, and just out of reach: What will I write about tomorrow?
Each day, the pragmatic and practical becomes a deeper, darker chasm. I am somebody who attempts to take a broad, lengthwise view of things. The sight [from the long horizon](https://brennan.day/12-000-generations-on-deep-time-grief-and-the-body/).
And yet, here I am writing with velocity and frantic compulsion for months in the now. A steep voice in my mind reminds me how precious and violent life is. Fragile and finite and to not take any moment for granted. As though I can visualize the red, blinking numbers counting down how many seconds I have, pulsing above my head.
As [I wrote about](https://brennan.day/outjerked-by-the-trickster/) a few days ago, I've found myself as the sole subject of a satire [circlejerk blog](https://circlejerk.blog) and I ask, why me? Five posts, now. It turned out that the anonymous writer behind the blog is part of the omg.lol community, who was silently reading an IRC conversation I was having with others about the blog.
It conjures the image of the shy wallflower at the dance. The deep thinker who doesn't dare speak out loud in front of everyone, but is more mindful about what's going on more than anyone else. Life blooms in ruminating darkness just as much as in warm sunshine. I've been in this position so, so many times throughout my life. I don't like taking up space, and I don't want to bother anybody by my mere existence, but my mind never turns off.
Coincidentally, I had a [hateful threat](https://social.lol/@brennan/117125029868261571) sent to me yesterday, and of course a mind like mine contemplated if it was the same person.
I've also been thinking about the epistolary and missives I've been exchanging with [Unstory](https://unstory.eu), the peasant anonymous blogger whose blog is being parodied by circlejerk in the first place.
You sometimes encounter people on the Internet who have a compulsive pathology towards sockpuppeting—you will think you're in a group, but there's just a single indivi
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