Darkness falls


Darkness falls and turns to light.

As it dies, it dies so bright.

Hoping to matter, hoping it might.

Do the things that are right.

Single star you fall so far.

Passing those you help with arm.

Dying star you die so well.

Following the obedient life of rail.
-Opinionated Man

  

Why the World Now Fears Bloggers


Do you remember the good old days when a company could give shitty service to a customer and then when they complained the corporation could laughingly place them into a caller queue to be redirected to death? When was the first time you heard or read of a story where someone used social media to fight back? Did it inspire you or make you curious?

The World fears us bloggers. We are unbridled, unprofessional peons with keyboards. We are supposed to know our place in this consumer enslaved world. We go to work, we make our pennies, and then we spend our money right back on the companies we work for. That is how the circle of life is painted in most portraits that sit behind current CEO desks.

The day that the average chump decided that they weren’t going to be just another customer was the day the Corporate World learned fear. Suddenly the guy wearing a hoody at register eight might very well be a social media giant that won’t put up with bullshit customer service. He won’t put up with rude servers or pompous managers. What is his weapon of choice? It is held by a holster or in his pocket… a simple cell phone with internet ability and a WordPress Ap.

That hoody is suddenly a fucking cape.

-OM

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WordPress – A Site of Fences


Browsing WordPress is much like walking down a fenced in sidewalk these days. Everywhere I look there are walls, protective measures, and anxious eyes watching my every move. Some bloggers are “waiting” for visitors to grace their pages, others are worried about predators and thieves stealing their work and still other writers are busy creating masterpieces that they then quickly erect gigantic walls around to ensure no one ever sees them. This all culminates into the saddest image of blogging to me.

I once had a follower email me and ask “what do you do about protecting your writing? Aren’t you afraid someone will steal your words since you put all you’re writing out there for free?” I quickly replied to this email that there is no way possible to ensure that someone doesn’t steal your words. It will happen, it is happening, and it can’t be stopped. I also pointed out that it is impossible to recognize the “dollar amount” that you are losing due to someone taking and sharing your writing without permission. This is merely to say that the “stress” associated with such cares is generally not worth the anxiety.

I have never been worried about people re-blogging, sharing, or reposting my articles. I do like to ask/demand that people credit the author and the website, but humans will do as they please. In an “open forum” website like WordPress it is basically impossible to regulate such things and I also think that the more eyes that see your articles the better. And for those worried that “someone else is making money off you” stop worrying about that complexity because guess what? WORDPRESS makes money off you currently. Still bothered? Every time you log into your WordPress account, or any website or account, you ARE paying someone, just in case anyone was really that naïve…

Everyone is so quick to erect fences. Don’t you know that is the fastest way to get splinters? I really hate splinters, they are so damn hard to get out, and thus I stay away from arduous woodwork. I will admit I get a bit sad and possibly annoyed when I visit a blog and I read something amazing. I then glance over at the follower count and view numbers and I say to myself “what a shame.” Like a rose behind a wall, a princess locked inside a tower, these are all the same images that define a deprived world. A world that will never be given the ultimate gift, an original thought written by you… that to me is the true tragedy of what blogging is becoming.

-OM

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I feel a need to kill


I feel a need to kill and feel life’s pulse die beneath my fingertips. To caress a gravestone alive with my fantasies, how easily the mind is teased during times of boredom. My fingers disturb the glass surface of my garden pond and awakens images of future victims. They play across the water’s surface like actors on the television, I pause for a moment on one.

Such pure innocence, when did I see you last? Why are you still in my mind? Was it while ordering my lunch yesterday or buying some mundane item at Target. Why did your face leave an etch mark on my memory, enough to give birth to a desire. Little did you know at our brief encounter that you had created another page in the true journal of my heart. A diary that holds my thoughts, as Action’s hand is stayed by moral obligation.

-Opinionated Man

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