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Tag: Facebook

Farewell to Facebook

I think I will 1) stop writing and reading on FB altogether, and only post to it from my blog, 2) communicate directly with people I wish to interact with, and 3) acknowledge that written messages between persons without shared understanding of the other’s intent are almost always misinterpreted, particular when one party is trying to inject levity into a subject the other takes very seriously. Point is that everyone on FB takes themselves too seriously, and really doesn’t laugh at anything unless it’s at someone else’s, and certainly not their own, expense. But then again, in this world some things aren’t funny anymore. And in some cases, they never were. THAT to me is the problem with people who despise political correctness – they no longer have the option to feel superior at someone else’s expense, but must rely on their own merit for self-respect. Of course there are exceptions, and it is not possible to legislate good taste, compassion, consideration or respect. Therein lies the dilemma: getting along, and coexisting, is up to each of us, individually. Anytime you create a “we”, you’ve built a wall.

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Face to Face

We reconnect through wireless means –
no strings attached, just memories
like wisps of smoke we can’t inhale
without a self-accusing stare.

Like ghosts, we shuffle wall to wall
and watch as life unfolds somewhere,
where we could be, on different paths,
some roads less traveled, others not.

We fondly look in retrospect
at days long gone, and former lives;
our innocence, perhaps, our joy –
some part of us we think now lost.

It’s just illusion that we weave,
this semblance of the village square
that in an instant may be gone.
It’s really just us, standing there.

And what do we have left say?
Not much. We share our politics,
or random thoughts about the world
that make us feel as if we care

beyond this circle in the dust
of wild electrons spinning ’round
that gives us substance in this mist
and makes us seem alive again.

26 AUG 2009

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@everyone

It’s all exposed online, you understand.
My life is more or less an open book:
my birth, my education, then my work,
and shared, too, all too soon, sickness and death.

The details that might make my trip unique
are no more poignant, pithy or sublime
than those comprising your own story-line;
if you want juicy gossip, look within.

This fascination with the small details
that keeps us all so spellbound with delight
as constant updates try, in little bites,
to feed our self-important appetites:

where does it end? And can such urgent lives
except in death expect to find much peace?

10 AUG 2009

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