A Ventlet

I need to copyright that term. It describes my channels of expression so well.

Ventlet. (n) Channel of expression or platform to express without fear of ridicule or repercussion. Most often employed to express confusion and/or angst that is unintelligible to most ordinary souls.

My moment of deliberate superficiality has now been accomplished for the day. I browsed through an old post earlier and it struck me that I spend more time wanting to make a statement rather than share observations these days. I don’t like that. It blends in with the soap-boxers too easily, and I don’t care much for that kind. That tends to blend in too much with the hoards of deconstructionists that I find myself surrounded with. People that always have a reason why something is flawed or not good enough while rarely being bold enough to offer an opinion of their own. An informed opinion, that is.

Perhaps they also have a need for ventlets but do not have access to one. Nah, that doesn’t compute. I could have said ‘that doesn’t add up’ but I felt like being superficial again. Over embellishment of expression is a great way to make something mundane seem important. I know how to do that well, even though it is something that annoys me easily. I often find myself prompting people to speak plainly.

Having tough discussions without the political correctness to stroke people’s egos, from personal experience, tends to yield more meaningful outcomes than showing a superficial respect for everyone. The superficial ones are those that are so focused on appearing likeable or proper that they willingly compromise substance for image. The irony is that such superficiality, to anyone paying attention, is in fact disrespect, disregard, and a waste of valuable time. Its focus places the needs of the superficial one above any vested interest in a meaningful outcome that any of the participants of such an engagement may have. Perhaps this post should be titled ‘Superficial’ instead?

Thinking aloud in a space that is no longer anonymous has its daunting moments. It has tested my sincerity on many occasions and is probably also why I seem so prone towards making statements rather than expressing my internal conversations with the aim of making sense of them. Like I’ve said before, we’re all curators looking for an audience. What an odd thought to be reminded of, yet so apt. Every overt act or expression is a means towards soliciting a desired response from the audience we wish to impress.

I suspect that there is no logical end to this vent, yet I continue brushing these keys with the tips of my fingers hoping that my mind will once again form the expressions of the thoughts that need to be verbalised the way it once happened so naturally. Moments of reflection like these stem the tide in my slip into senility and self-obsession. Taking stock of my forms of expression tends to result in me calling me to account for subscribing to mannerisms and inclinations that I would normally despise in others. A moment of reflection is greater than 80 years of worship. I can see how that would be more valuable than ritualistically plodding on to an imposed rule set as opposed to conscious subscription to a way of life.

Wow, how did this suddenly become about religion? Perhaps in that is a hint to the underlying tensions that I have subdued for too long.

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