fragmented paths

Somewhere between the scaffolding of story and the poetry of thought lies a landscape I’m yearning to explore. It’s a place where the personal and the theoretical intertwine, where the raw texture of life rubs against the abstraction of ideas. The blending of creative nonfiction and theoretical poetics—this hybrid, fragmented, kaleidoscopic way of writing—feels like a natural evolution for me as a blogger. Or maybe it’s a revolution.

Blogging has always been about more than just broadcasting ideas. For me, it’s been a space to wander, to weave connections, to create not just content but experiences. Yet lately, I’ve felt constrained by the demands of coherence, the expectation that a post should move neatly from A to B to C. Life doesn’t work that way. Meaning certainly doesn’t. So why should my writing?

I’ve always loved the fragmented. Poems scribbled in notebooks, sentences that hang in the air like questions, half-finished thoughts that refuse to resolve. These shards feel more honest to me than tidy conclusions. They reflect how my mind actually works: jumping from memory to theory to image in an associative dance that resists linearity.

What if my blog posts could feel like that? Less like essays and more like dérives—psychogeographical explorations through thought, language, and memory. A paragraph might recount an experience, only to fracture into a poetic musing or a philosophical tangent. One post could be a mosaic of moments and ideas, with hyperlinks acting as paths that lead deeper down the rabbit hole.

The internet is inherently fragmented, a web of connections where one thing leads to another in a chain of discovery. Blogging, at its best, mirrors this. It’s why I’ve always resonated with the idea of the blog as a “living library,” a hypertextual space for wandering and serendipity. By embracing this hybrid style—creative nonfiction infused with theoretical poetics—I could lean fully into the internet’s liminal nature. Each post could become a piece of the larger puzzle, an invitation for readers to not just consume but explore.

Imagine a post that begins with a memory of walking through a city at night. The sound of my footsteps could spiral into a meditation on rhythm and language, which could then lead to a reflection on the word “liminality.” Hyperlinks might take the reader to a related poem, a visual collage, or an article about psychogeography. Each piece would stand alone but also connect to a larger, evolving web of meaning.

Of course, there’s a risk here. Theory can be intimidating, alienating even. But theoretical poetics isn’t about showing off intellectual prowess—it’s about opening doors. It’s about taking abstract ideas and grounding them in the personal, the sensory, the immediate. A concept like “liminality” might feel distant until you connect it to the everyday feeling of being caught between two phases of life, or the way twilight blurs the boundary between day and night.

That’s the beauty of this mashup: it allows for both the concrete and the abstract. A single post can be both an anchor and a kite, tethered to the earth but reaching for the sky.

Perhaps what excites me most about this approach is that it feels like an act of discovery—not just for the reader but for me as the writer. I wouldn’t be starting with answers, but with questions. The act of writing becomes a process of thinking out loud, of piecing together fragments to see what new shapes emerge. It’s an iterative, generative process, more about exploration than exposition.

This also feels true to my own experience of reading and learning. When I encounter a text that blends the personal with the philosophical, it sparks something in me. It’s as if the writer is inviting me to not just read but to think alongside them, to follow their train of thought wherever it might lead. That’s the kind of experience I want to create for my readers.

So how do I start? The beauty of blogging is that it’s a perfect medium for experimentation. I don’t need to have the entire style figured out—I can try it on, piece by piece, post by post. I might begin with a single fragment: a vivid memory, a stray thought, a quote that won’t let me go. From there, I could let the post unfold organically, weaving in theoretical musings, poetic imagery, or intertextual links as they arise.

I could also play with structure. Maybe one post takes the form of a collage, with short fragments juxtaposed to create a sense of resonance. Another might mimic the style of a braided essay, weaving together multiple threads that converge in unexpected ways. The key would be to remain open, to let the form evolve naturally rather than forcing it into a preconceived shape.

A Way Forward

This hybrid style feels like more than just a creative experiment—it feels like a way forward. A way to reconcile my love of storytelling with my fascination for ideas. A way to honour the fragmented, multifaceted nature of my own mind while creating something cohesive enough to share. A way to invite my readers into a shared space of exploration, where we can wander through the intersections of the personal and the theoretical, the narrative and the poetic.

It feels risky, yes. But it also feels alive. And maybe that’s what blogging should be: not a repository for neatly packaged answers, but a living, breathing process of discovery. A way of thinking, feeling, and connecting in real time.

So here’s to fragmentation. To hybridity. To wandering paths and unanswerable questions. To blogging as a space for encounter, not arrival. I don’t know exactly where this journey will lead, but I’m ready to take the first step. And if you’re reading this, I hope you’ll walk with me.

Welcome to 2025!