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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
Follow the Spy
Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Friday, June 08, 2007
Those who say blogging is something personal, something they do
only for themselves, have blinders on. Or are at least lying to themselves. Blogging is an act of public performance, and as such becomes public property, consumable and easily lending itself for praise or attack. (Trolls, however, are another matter.) What we blog about may be for us highly personal -- sometimes we even go as far as keep some of our URLs secret from prying eyes -- but there is a secret and unacknowledged want to be read, for our dirty laundry to be available for the rest of the world to see. We perform for the voyeur really. It's just in the very nature of the Internet medium. That is why some of my happiest, and many of my saddest or most perverse moments, never make it as blog posts. There remains always our offline lives that we really don't chronicle,
just because. Blogging is a creation of a persona, and by God, it is an edited one whether we acknowledge it or not.
Which may be why I have gone back to journal writing, something I've abandoned for much too long. I bought the notebook above in Chennai, India -- and there's something about its pages that's making me spill everything, uncensored. In its pages, you will see my blood and my guts. Sometimes it's scary, but most of the time it is liberating. I'll still blog, of course. We need that kind of outlet for the more outlandish sides of our selves, the ones that beg attention from the world. But there are also other things we need to keep to ourselves. We need some of our secrets to really be able to live. A man without secrets is nobody interesting.
Labels: blogging, life, writing
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