Social Media

Friend requests from pretty girls —
what do they want with me?
Getting tagged by those I know.
Its just a memory.
Everyone’s offended now,
there’s nothing I can say
that doesn’t anger half of them,
and drive the rest away.

I didn’t come to M$%^&m to make friends, nor did I want another blog to maintain. I spend far more time online than is healthy for me. And while I’d like to supplement my $948.oo a month Social Security check (my only real income) I have a bigger dream.

My son died just over 10 years ago…

Yesterday’s article, What Really Happened to Brian and Gabby? got me some flack. I knew it would. Any time any writer dares to question the media’s version of the story things get heated. That’s why I prefer to write fiction and poetry.

It’s really sad women of color don’t get the same level of media attention when they go missing. I’m hoping that changes someday soon but I’m not betting it will.

Too many adults are terrified of science because science brings about change. …

I had no clue. Thank you for making me aware.

But I have to wonder if the relator might have violated the copyright when using an image not of his or her own making. In other words, does the creator of Pepe the Frog know his or her work is being used in this way?

Are you the sort that just falls in with the crowd when it comes to big news stories, or are you the sort who asks questions, the where, when, who, what, how, and why? I’m am.

Currently most of the nation is under the assumption that Brian Laundrie murdered Gabby Petito. Perhaps he did. There is plenty of circumstantial evidence that, on the surface, suggests that is exactly what happened but to date I’ve read or heard nothing that would convict Brian Laundrie for the murder of Gabby Petito.

Did you ever stop to wonder if perhaps Brian was running away from Gabby’s killer when he returned to Florida?

I’m not claiming that is actually what happened but based on what little we really know it is just as plausible as anything else. …

Am I the only one who remembers WrittenByMe (dot) com way back in 1999? That was the first of many paid-to-write websites I tried.

Like all of them there was serious money to be made.... until the venture capital ran out. Yet they always follow the same proven-to-fail business model.

Are venture capitalists really that dumb, or have they figured a means to profit from the information they gather from the millions who write and read on their websites that continues to rake in profits long after each website is gone?

There was a poet no one knew
whose inspiration no one drew.
His time on Earth was all in vain
as none would come to know his name.
But as luck would have it, his dreams came true;
after all was lost, his words they knew.
No words survived except his own
in a time when all the bards were gone.

Imagine a time when no one writes poems or stories, when all such works are gone, and yet the works of only one remain.

My friend and hometown girl, Gwen Frisbie-Fulton writes in her article, Women are the Working…

A poem about… Well you’ll figure it out.

Follow, follow, follow me.
Give me some claps —
it’s easy and free.
How ‘bout some tips —
it won’t cost you much.
Follow me, we can stay
in touch.

Become a member
of my society —
Mutual appreciation,
it’s cheap and it’s free.
Do it to me, I’ll do it to you —
better’n sex,
and you never get screwed.

It never gets messy,
not like a break up,
and I’ll follow you
’til I’ve followed enough.
Give me my hundred,
a thousand or more;
maybe a million,
but let’s not keep score.

Follow, follow, follow me.
Claps are easy…

As one who has self-published several books, and written online for over 20 years I can tell anyone, you have to be crazy to be a writer, or artist of any kind.

99% of all publishing efforts are failures in the market place.

The vast majority of artists will remain unknown-- even some of the best in their fields.

And I've often wondered if perhaps a lot of the books we consider to be classics only survived because no one needed to burn the last copy to keep from freezing to death.

But then I think wierd things like that.