Not A Blog™

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I’ve mentioned this before, but it bears repeating. There are experiences for which we don’t have words in English. For all the expressiveness of the language, there are still things we can’t describe. You would think, what with poets and bards and philosophers writing about all aspects of the human condition—dissecting every emotion and musing on the nature of nature—that we would have stumbled upon words for everything. Not so.

While I’m good at unintentionally making up words by melding two synonyms together, I’m not any good at consciously creating new words that actually sound like words. That’s why, for example, I never suggested my own word for “something that tastes the way something else smells”. Durned if I could think of one. (Somebody must have…) But I was able to think of a word to describe a particular state, and I consider that a victory for language, pyrrhic as it may seem.

I’ve found that I have to consume a huge amount of information in order to continually write interesting and original Not A Blog™ entries. This shouldn’t come as any surprise—nor should the big reveal that I spend most of my time online not reading up on current events for the Not A Blog™, but watching dumb videos on YouTube. Either that, or it’s someone’s Flash animation, someone else’s music, another person’s art, and these other guys’ web comics. The point is, I’m not just consuming information, but a lot media and internet culture. This has led to the side effect—for better or worse—where I know almost any internet meme a full month before some acquaintance mentions it to me. (Not really, but it happens more often than not.)

The other thing this directly contributes to is a strange state of unmotivated motivation. I see other people on the internet being phenomenally more productive, and better at what they do, than myself. Generally speaking, the people I follow regularly are people who produce things that I really enjoy—and I enjoy them because they’re really good.

The same thing happens after I finish a really good book, or watch a really good movie, or listen to a really good album. It doesn’t need to be online; it just so happens that I consume most of my media online, for what that’s worth. All these things are hugely inspirational—look what can be done! Look at this guy and this fantabulous world he built. (I didn’t make up the word “fantabulous”, by the way; I stole it from James Lileks.) Look at this other guy and the insightful webcomics he draws. This stuff is great. If only I weren’t so lazy, I’d be using pieces from each of these things in my work, building something new and cool and kewl and knew.

But along with the awesomeness that is this other work—and wholly separate from the notion that I’m an unproductive slacker—is another feeling mixed in beneath. It’s the feeling that other people are contributing so much and doing it so well, that there’s no point. What do I have to offer that hasn’t just been done eight million times better than I, myself, could do it? Why bother? I love to be inspired, but I don’t like this “dark side” of the inspiration. Every inspiring thing invokes this to a certain extent, I think. But this flip side to inspiration gathers its strength as the individual realizes that he will never approach this level of Quality.

What a strange, dark thing is this, residing as it does beneath the bright and glorious “inspiration”. Why, it’s almost as one is becoming demotivated. Seeing this cool art has not only inspired me, but also driven me to not-do. What is this state?

Despired. (Pronounced dee·spi·erd)

That’s my latest contribution to the English language. I’ve recently tried it out in conversation and it seems to click, so I’m going to keep using it.

Despiration means being inspired by art so much that you’re driven to not do anything about it, because there’s no way you could come close. I’d be willing to bet every artist has experienced this at one point or another. I think a lot of people say that they’ve been “inspired” by art, but they use the word, in this case, to cover up the fact that they will never actually produce anything more as a result of said art. You can be inspired and not produce anything; that’s just laziness. But when you don’t produce anything, despite being inspired, because the art is so good, then you’ve become despired.

It’s a dangerous situation. I’ve been despired many times over the past week or two. It’s enough to drive a man to self-loathing in a creation-free existence. Like Writer’s Block, there must be a way to break out of a despiring situation. The only thing I can think of is by watching really bad movies on YouTube or listening to really bad music, or what have you. Things that are so pitiful that, as a reflex, you spout, “pshaw! I could do that!”

And then you do.

-Ted