Diaries are naturally destined to be read only by their authors, at least during the writer's lifetime.
Thus, barring exceptionally gifted writers, one presumes that these papers tend to be a sort of domestic business, one of those things you do in dressing gown and slippers so to speak (not to mention other less formal house wear). Therefore, in the short lifespan of these particular diaries, the widespread indifference evidenced by the www has been something of a comfort. As faraway and indefinable as “posterity”, the abstract web surfer could hardly be more than a rather improbable eventuality.
However, and much to my shocked chagrin, a real, tangible, eyeball to page reader has miraculously happened; and now I find myself kicking the slippers under the couch, looking in horror at the mess around, abashed, self-conscious. Lots of explaining to do, plenty of stuff to edit, correct, eliminate. Dear dear!.
I blame myself, of course. No one would have found it alone. It’s the message in a bottle syndrome. But, there it is, and I shall try to sink with the ship, with as much dignity as can be mustered in a dressing gown.
Sea storms seem the vivid portrait of just how powerless we are in the face of monumental forces, be they natural or not. While a good part of our lives transpire under the delusion that destiny is somehow under our control, that we choose certain routes that take us more or less inevitably to certain ports, the ever hungry sea shall do it’s will whether we like it or not, and even more disquietingly, with total disregard of our merits or faults.
Much like life, I posit, looking through tha ravaged timbers of my once proud vessel.
Curiously enough, and though I loved the story as a child, Robinson Crusoe is not one of my favourite castaways. The use of the adventure as a statement in favour of 19th cetury liberalism is more than I can stomach, however well K. Marx put old Robinson, or rather, Daniel Defoe in the right place. Niether do I hold any fondness for the hapless fedex employee hollywood marooned circa 2004 or thereabouts (however rich both are in secondary details).
The many themes that SW allows shall slowly and laboriously be explored. They are out there, in the salty breeze, Long John Silver's pension scheme, Odysseus' raft and so much more that I feel quite exhausted.
