In your average piece of literature, black is often used to represent the banes of humanity. The darkness in man's heart, the soullessness of the macabre, the indescribable face of chaos and evil itself - no other color lends itself so freely to such ideals as readily as black does. It represents what we can't understand - which makes it the first thing we think of when our thoughts somehow lead towards that looming oblivion waiting to claim us for eternity.
Yes, I know - this entry suddenly got dark (pun intended). Trust me: I'm going somewhere with this.
The problem I see with this whole "black represents fear" thing is that black doesn't represent a color I fear. I'm a writer in the 21st century. People like us know that oblivion waits to claim us all. We've embraced our dark sides to the point of cursing ourselves with alcoholism and depression, drawing strength from what would otherwise be considered a weakness. (The writers of years past can attest to the former "curse," while the writers of today can vouch for the latter.) We turned this ebony pool of nothingness into a generous muse that we draw information from.
Does that make us invincible - gods among men? No. That's because we fear a different color: white. You know the color - the one we stare at from time to time when we turn on our computers or typewriters. We pull up a word processor, a blank sheet of paper, a website - and all we see is the same void of emptiness that black would normally represent. We see a lack of vision, an absence of clarity, the infestation of hopelessness.
That's how I feel about it, at least. Staring at a white... blank web page with a text box and a blinking cursor. I don't know what to write sometimes - and coming out of a writing hiatus and attempting an entry while my body is crying for sleep doesn't help any. Though I have to admit, staring into an oblivion that's white as snow is strangely comforting.
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