Exploitation with Diction
Last year around this time ( I guess it wasn’t around this time and March is not the same thing as May) I was in the final reach of my AP Language and Composition class working on a project called “Blog of Delights:” a project where each student had their own blog page with 2 weekly entries talking about some delight he or she experienced. The project was inspired by Ross Gay, the author behind The Book of Delights. Here’s one of the posts I made. I think the concept I discuss especially pertains to how I feel about writing right now, any form of creative endeavor (especially painting), and writing based on literary analysis (am I exploiting the work I am reading by using its words for my own academic gain in terms of grades—that concept isn’t properly conveyed through what I wrote, but honestly I have no mental capacity to explain myself further at the moment).
2 May 2020
“Recently, writing these blogs has increased in difficulty. It is not that I am running out of things that I am delighted by. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I am so much more cognizant of the small joys in life, but when it comes to bringing any of them to this blog, I feel a degree of guilt.
In a way, it seems rather selfish of me to write about my so-called “delights.” Am I really being genuine and grateful if I am just using those delights for my personal benefit of completing this English assignment? At this point, you are right, Mr. Testa, this project has become so much more than a project, but I cannot help but feel I am belittling the treasure that these small moments and actions bring to me by exploiting them through writing.
For instance, writing about the energy that converts the metaphysical into a realistic image on canvas with just the minute fine motor skills of my muscles, takes away the interconnectivity that is the experience of painting with the painting itself. Bringing it to words abuses the connectivity of being present in the moment, recounting something that can only truly be experienced in the act of doing. In writing, I am taking more than I am given, overusing what comes in such short supply.
Maybe writing is supposed to reignite a memory so it lives on, but not everything should be given this immortal life. So to meet the requirements of this assignment, I will simply say that so much brings me delight, and that is enough for me.”
~Present~
Sometimes I hate the past.
I have no desire to feel the present.
And
I have no sight of the future.
