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R J Keefe

No one will ever find uniqueness by using the common currency of language.

I don't know what "difference" means to you. I've followed this blog largely to find out, so it's frustrating to have the thing come to an end without an answer. But I do know that you are the one of the most unusual men I have ever come across. Perhaps it's just your candor. But your particular mix of contradictions - almost everything that you say about being just like everybody else is contradicted by earlier entries on say, writing about a fake past at an early age, and having problems at dancing school somewhat later (just two that come to mind) - is yours and yours alone. There are thousands of other people who share each one of your characteristics, but no one, I think, who has them all to the same degree.
There are no stereotypical people. There are only people too poor and deprived to make anything of themselves. You're not one of them - that's for sure.

If I thought that you were abandoning the search for self because you'd hit on the enlightening idea that our differences are not important, but just there; if I thought that you were giving up the search because you understood it to be fueled by vanity, I'd say - fine. If I saw the real happiness and delight that marked your account of a recent week in New York - fine.

Of course - and this thought has crossed my mnind several times - it may be that you have indeed been writing fiction.

Whatever it has been, you're good at it.


Somebody already wrote "Everyman" - several hundred years ago. Meanwhile "Searchblog" is also back from a brief break.


If you are indeed discontinuing this blog my heart is saddened. Thank you for the laughs and sobs.

Something that has amazed me from an early age is the desire for people to feel different. It is not that comforting of a thing, and the desire to feel so if often akin to the "grass is greener" longing.

I am young, but have seen many people strip their lives of all "easy identifiers" to see who they really are, to find their differences. We are all composites of these things, while not being any of them. When we strip them from ourselves in an attempt to "find ourselves" we seem to be taking down all the clues to finding who we are. They are our fingerprints left behind to give us clues.

People desire difference for themselves. But those that in their difference, realize they are the same as everyone else. It is very frustrating to be seen as different and most just want to fit in and be viewed as normal...ordinary.

Primary colors are the most ordinary of the colors. The basic, the shared, the most common, the least unigue. Yet they manage to be the brighest and the most brillant. The search for new colors must start from the originals. Perhaps you have reached your basic colors, and can now start painting your own picture. If you do not have the bland, blank canvas, the picture cannot be painted. Bland is not bad, ordinary is not a death sentence..it is rather a spring board into life!

I hope that perhaps you'll consider posting a little of your fiction?


What great book was ever written by a happy person? I'm glad that you've shaken off the temporary coat of happiness! I'm glad that Peggy Lee is lodged back there somewhere, lounging on a piano, blowing smoke and singing "Is that all there is?".

Writing fiction? I honestly thought you had been all this time. Seriously. The Shroud of Turin's mystery has nothing on you.

Just keep dancing...

Outer Life

I don't plan to discontinue Outer Life. The focus might shift away from me. Or I might prove incapable of thinking outside myself. We'll see.


We are all alike in that we have many things in common. The exterior of my condo looks just like the exterior of every other condo in my plat. Yet I consider myself unique. Not by being the best at anything, though I am good at quite a few, but by being the particular combination of interests, ideas, and ways of doing things that I am. I consider every human as unique,though some resemble each other more than others do. It is not our houses, cars, clothes, or any material possessions or situation that determines our uniqueness (save extreme examples such as political position or star status in a profession) but what is inside ourselves.

What you have posted on your blog so far shows you to be extremely unique in your particular view and take on events that occur to many other people. That we as readers find commonallity in what you write does not negate its uniqueness. You have the ability to capture what we may have experienced in a similar yet different way but cannot present for anyone else to know about.

Based on what you have written so far, your career as a fiction writer should be quite successful. You have a gift for description that evokes images and creates genuine emotion in the reader.

Good Luck.


Sounds like a fledgling Paul Auster, if you ask me. But with a twist. Always with a twist.


Hmmm. You partake of everything universal, but you are anything but ordinary. A writer's extraordinary emerges in the seeing, in the rendering that reveals the only apparently ordinary in ways we have not apprehended it before, in the interplay of vantage points and perspectives, in the precision of particularities and the unfolding of a scene or a character or a revelation, and in a certain poignant music to be heard in the cadences of sentences and turns of phrase. When you make ordinary eyes see with extraordinary clarity and words dance to meaning, you have given a gift that I, for one, am loath to part with. I hope you'll keep posting whatever wants to be written here on Outer Life. I am always eager to see where your next post will take us. I am simultaneously excited about your next venture, into fiction. Your posts have transcended pedestrian blogging; they are small works of art, rehearsals for something more.

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