Most people don't get to choose their names. A couple legally change it. That must be the most frightening thought in the world. To think you can go and change your name. And I don't mean your last name. People change their last name all the time, and it's never really changing you. Changing your last name means you're changing family, changing your past. It's for you, sure, but it almost kind of feels like changing your last name is kind of for everyone else's benefit. Kind of like how people use titles like "Doctor" or "Sir" or "Princess" or something. It's adding some more information about you. But your first name. That's you. It's what people call you every day. When someone has any kind of thought about you, in their head, they're adding meaning to the word that is your first name. It's why if you ever meet a Nina you don't like, you will probably never like any other Nina in your life, and you damn sure won't name your kid that either.
I think it's interesting when writers or musicians showcase work from and by themselves, under some clever name. Like Color and City. Or Ziggy Stardust. Or the artist formerly known as Prince. I think more than anything else, they understand that. That a name brings meaning with it. And in turn, the thing it names is defined by that thing. It's a cycle. And if you choose a name that seems odd, or has some literal other meaning, it gives a bit of bias to whatever it is they say and do. So much so that you might be listening to Miley Cyrus' music one night, and realize after all this time, she was singing about something you relate to on a completely personal level. And that realization might feel like it's destroyed you a little bit. Not the realization, but the utter lack of attention you paid before. But you had already formed some other opinion, just because her name used to mean 'Disney'.
'iwrotethisforyou' is someone I admire deeply. I would read some of his work, late at night when I was particularly gloomy, or even optimistic. And wonder and wish that it was really a girl who I had met and amazingly had managed to miss out on in my life, just simply not noticed that I had wronged so hard or left such a deep and lasting impression on. And that she was writing directly to me. That through chance (or really a friend) I would find her, and everything she had ever wanted to say to me, either in love or in anger, or in misery, or in joy, or just to pass the time.
And it wasn't until I read his explanation about who 'you' this was really for, that I started to think about the author as a real person, with a real name and feelings and life events. It both destroyed the old meanings I had for each of his poems, and attached a million new ones.
It's when I realize the name 'iwrotethisforyou' was for someone in his mind, but for me, it really was for me. It was for me and every other person that feels like a ship alone at sea in the eye of a dark storm. It was for everyone that feels like there is no redemption, no saving grace to life or themselves. Its for the people who feel shitty for and about themselves, so that they know not only there's someone else who can feel that way, but can feel better. That you can too.
I think about the choice of, what I feel like is now, my name. What I chose as a whim during a period of inspiration, until recently, was just the name of a blog. Blurs of Joy. It seemed like a clever name for something. And, I felt, elicited a response in the reader's mind that I wanted them to have. To think of me as. When I first started this blog, I think I was more interested in making other people feel a certain way. It's why I ended up emulating 'iwrotethisforyou' a lot, either subconsciously or not. I would read his poetry and think and feel certain things, and days later find myself wishing I could have that kind of profound effect on people, with just the words I write. That I could reach out and connect with people in ways they felt people in their own lives never could. Blurs of Joy was a blog name that implied mystery and happiness. And that's usually how I ended up feeling after reading 'iwrotethisforyou'.
I realize now, as much as I want to connect with people, as much as I want to make them think that I'm clever, that's not the best motivation for writing. That you can only emulate other people for so long before you run out of ideas, and you're left with nothing but yourself in your head. And you're afraid of what people will think of when they see it. If they will think less of that person. If they would think less of me.
I had this fantasy (correction: I HAVE this fantasy) that this blog will take off phenomenally. That I would become famous and popular, and I'd get a book deal, and it would all be under this alias. Blurs of Joy. And then one day I'd be famous enough that I'd pull back the veil and say 'Look! It is really I!' and all my friends would gasp and applaud. And suddenly, all the wonderful and amazing things that were Blurs of Joy would just transfer to my actual name. And now suddenly I would go from being some one dimensional real life character, to being a multi dimensional deep person, whose character is half made up in the minds of the world.
I still have that fantasy, but I am less interested in people finding out who I really am. Because here, I really am Blurs of Joy. I am the man that lives in my bedroom late at night and early in the morning. The man that goes on long drives in the middle of the night, into cold woodland on dirt roads, and watches the stars. The man that is still sitting in loud bars and clubs when everyone else has gotten up for that one last round of shots. I'm not the person that is alive and awake and optimistic and ready for the challenges of life and the warmth of people. Sometimes I am, but not here. Here I am Blurs of Joy, a name that is designed to make you think one thing about me, so that I can be something else entirely. And writing all this. And having you read it all. It's just helping define it a little better. But it's a part of who I am. It is who I am. And as much as he is a bit of a dick to me, Blurs of Joy is a part of my life too.
P.S. This whole entry, and blog really, and even persona, as hipster as that sounds, is dedicated to two people. The first one is Iain Thomas. Not 'iwrotethisforyou', but Iain Thomas, and his beautiful mind for writing so much and prolifically, in a way that always felt comforting to me. And to my friend who knows who she is. And for all the reasons she already knows why. But mostly because she knows me better than any other soul does or will, even if she doesn't know it herself.
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