That we’re doing it here, if that’s what we’re doing, is enough.
I’m somewhat wary of why people then “publish”. Anytime,
I've heard someone in common comment about being published
it always seemed intent to strike a distinction if not superiority
which is more than a little pathetic.
Personally, my things do not share how “I” feel and think;
they are as remote from the I that I usually am as they are
from a man or woman next to me. I think Arnold’s
“The Buried Life” has some sense here. They are like dreams
of some “other” which if not immediately written down are
soon lost and forgotten. Apart from coming through my
brain and hand, (and whatever talents they’ve acquired to facilitate
the journey without too much injury), “I” can make little claim to
them. Indeed, anyone coming to me personally in quest of the source
for the things I put down on paper or screen would in me
be very disappointed. Apart from the present example above,
which is something of an anomaly, (and which as I mentioned
before I dislike), the things I do are usually not done as if
addressing you or any other present audience. Whoever reads
is doing so not as if they were facing the writer but rather
looking over his shoulder; if you looked to your side you would
find me standing beside you equally if not more curious.
I should add I don’t put much value in this “I” notion, seeing
it as a transient phenomenon; an accretion created by time
and circumstance with little lost, when the time comes,
in its passing.