Last night I ventured forth into the sweaty masses of the tumblrsphere, and began following a number of the lifestreamers. Until now, my connection to Tumblr has been largely though web designers, software developers, technologists, photographers, social media mavens, and any number of other like-minded souls.
While skimming the surface of the sea of content, I remembered a piece I wrote some time ago about the incredible community within Tumblr - about the insight it gives you to the coming generation - their hopes, their dreams, and their fears.
So, with optimism, hope, and perhaps a spirit of adventure in mind I began “following”.
I had not predicted the reaction at all. I woke this morning to find a number of responses to my “arrival” (if you can call it that). Some were positive - following me back - others were less positive - requesting that I unfollow (quite why anybody would publish a supposedly “private” blog on a public platform bemuses me, but I complied without question).
As you will have noted if you cast an eye over recent questions and answers here, one person took it upon themselves to spend quite some time ranting at me - anonymously attempting to pull my life apart.I couldn’t help thinking about Good Will Hunting
So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. And I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, “once more unto the breach dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ‘cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you I don’t see an intelligent, confident man I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart.