Temporary breakthrough

To say that I have written very little lately is an obvious understatement. I'm not even talking about updating this blog, but writing in general. The addictive time suck of social media, along with a lack of confidence has really caused me to essentially stop writing. It's been months since I've written a poem.

Months.

Since Meatgrinder last July, perhaps?

It's been a few years since I've written with any energy and grief stopped that in its tracks. Now, I have zero confidence in putting any thought to paper, let alone want to present it to people at a reading. I think I have successfully erased myself from the Columbus poetry scene. That's how low I feel.

Something was festering in my head for a few weeks though. The germ of a thought that came from an observation. Could I put it down and feel like i am not mining my son's life, which is (again) what the poem is about?



There was a moment in time before a webinar today when I set pen to paper and hoped. It took less than five minutes for most of it to be put down. I refrained from putting the paper in the shredder. During the webinar I edited it a bit and in typing at home it got edited a bit more.

Not the best, far from it. Not the worst, far from it. But it's something, and it's been a long time since I put something down that I did not immediately hide or erase.

The high horses on keyboards

I'm old enough to remember when a lot of people lost them minds when a dude solicited donations through gofundme for a potato salad recipe.

Now it's shifted to people policing where people give their charity to. Most recently the renovation of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris after it sustained heavy damage in a fire this week.

"But the Catholic Church is bad."

"The church no longer owns the cathedral"

"But the Catholic Church is bad"

"It's a living, breathing work of art and museum."

"But the Catholic Church is bad."

"It's a touchstone of Paris, a cultural and cartographic icon of France."

"But the Catholic Church is bad."

While we're still able, people have the right to donate their money where they wish, whether it be to victims of rape, church renovation or saving a barrier reef. It's the judgement, the sanctimony, that is grosser than the transgressions which lead to the solicitation of funds.

Your algorithms and metrics are driving me away

There is a real cocksuredness about social media that bothers me. Discussion has all but disappeared, replaced by people who simply post and say 'prove me wrong' or 'fight me' or 'don't @ me'

It bores me to tears. So I mute, unfollow, snooze or simply remove said person out of my life. The frustration grows when facebook only shows me about a half dozen posts at a time. That's not engagement, it's shackling and I do not know how much more I can take.

Despite the pleas of users, the activity becomes worse, the tedium increases and the fun is in the rear view mirror. There's no replacement in sight, other than completely disappearing.

I've already self-cancelled myself out of the local poetry scene here, the only major thing keeping me on Zuckerberg's folly are the deathpools.

Think I need to retire, get a dog, and hope he or she is not bothered by my guitar playing.

A Blogger's Life for...me?

Ten years ago I posted to my Live Journal account for the last time. I did not delete my account, and have made comments on other people's posts but there has been no original content posted by me since then.

It was a site where there were no character limits, where people posted the minutia of their days along with some rather spectacular writing - fiction or not. There was also a lot of drama, but there's no need to rehash that now.

For the most part, linking to tweets non-withstanding, it was a place that avoided the pithiness of today's social media sites. There was a sense of permanence to Live Journal posts that does not really adhere to Facebook or Twitter, and certainly not Snapchat. Even with the drama, it did not feel as cruel as a Twitter mob.

After the Russians bought the site, the demise really happened. Some people deleted their accounts, others (like me) simply abandoned them on the bleak landscape of the internet. Many people simply left with no explanation so you do not know what happened to them. Others (like me) left a forwarding address.

This platform, while useful, does not have the interaction that LJ had, and lacks the immediacy of Facebook or Twitter. It does, however, have the permanence. I can go back and look at posts from 5-10 years ago rather easily and see the demise of my writing and reading. It's not a shock, but a sad reality as I got into the time suck of those other two sites.

Thus I remain here, stubbornly, as well. Trying to find some sense in all of it amid the quick postings of dead musicians, with few pictures and for the most part - even less substance.

Rest in Peace, Scott Walker

He was born in Hamilton, Ohio 76 years ago. Moved to California, made some records, became a huge multi-media star in the UK. Then he chucked it all away for the avant-garde and we're all better for it

Shred in peace

My guitar teacher gave me a tab of some of this man's work. Some of it is technique, but so much is tone and feel. My wife did recognize what I was trying to do though.

Dick Dale was a true Influencer in guitar playing and manufacturing. The man was still going at the end, colostomy bag and all. He said he had to pay medical bills, but I think he also loved playing.

Rest in peace, Sara Romweber

Mitch Easter is the only one left from this record.