Peevish Post Number 206

in Sundries

I’m not in the mood for politics or a baseball pennant race. Nor am I happy working a platform with two editors and having to parse which editor effects the desired change to a post or page.

Rage is the word, kiddies. The march to mobile makes old school simplicity the foot fall unheard.

So what’s my on-line path to be. Search me? Safe to say if I had my way I’d return to the day of the mimeograph machine and a bulk postal rate. But fate is a digital finger forever waving in the middle muddle between an undertaking and its monetization.

And if content is king then we’re all less than even migrant workers on whichever server farm is in vogue. And no shot at going rogue, as routers packet but they do not parse.

And told we’re players with stories to share, and convinced personal creativity powers the world, we’re caught between cave paintings and Plato’s Allegory. Between the first blush of digital consciousness, and puppets pocketing the change.

Fake news, fake friends, fake likes, fake money, poems and love, outrage and fake freedom.

But the game’s early. And faith is free. Keep it.

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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