Freshly (De)Pressed

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Once upon a time,
long ago, in a galaxy far, far away,
I was a simple blogger
going about his business

happily.

Typing away in relative obscurity
unaware of the dangers lurking
just around the corner.

And then…

I was Freshly Pressed!!!!!!!!

Now,
after sitting on my laurels
after my fifteen
after being inundated with the drive-by praise of random strangers,
I’m a nervous wreck.

‘Cause now,
I’m chasing the dragon…

Welcome to WordPress–
where you are one voice among millions
and the loudest scream barely clears a whisper

where your chances of being noticed
are about as good
as the guy’s who parks cars at the White House are
of inheriting the presidency…
How many would have to go down
for anything to land on us?

Dear WordPress…
dear, dear WordPress…
Thank you for amplifying our sense of
worthlessness
by introducing us to the fleeting nature of fame.

Isn’t it enough to create a space
and then let it be filled
with the variegated voices of valuable people?
We don’t need adulation;
we need registration…and then
freedom to move about our
worldviews
without the pressure of competition
of proving ourselves to strangers
instead of sharing ourselves with friends

Your voice; my voice:
they all count, whether we’ve been noticed or not.
Is this community?
Then let it be a community
of the few and the caring.

Silence is only golden when you know someone is there.

Here’s an award for you:
The Still, Small Voice Award.
Try that one on for size.

If you’ve spoken, you’ve won.
You are nominated; you are vindicated;
you are recognized

if only by those others of us
who share your cloak of
invisibility

Next Stop on the WTF! Tour

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I will grant you…
a lot of this is my own fault.

I am not the easiest person with whom to connect…

I’m not a recluse,
exactly…
but I’m not far off, either.
I march to the beat of my own
humdrum;
given the choice,
I’ll take the gun and the cannoli
and go home.

I love travel, but only on my terms;
other people get in the way.
I love being an uncle,
because I don’t have to take the kids home at night.

I’m a loner,
and I thrive on loneliness.
As the man once said…
Hurts so good…

Perhaps poorly wired for friendship.

Deeply prone to oppositional thinking:
without conflict, I could not express fully who I am.
I am not,
as some have suggested, rather archly, a
“COMPLAINER.”
I am simply a warrior in search of battle,
a knight errant in squeaky armor,
with grails coming out of the woodwork.

I am never content with being content;
I must exercise
(exorcise?)
my passions
or shrivel and die in quiet.

But sometimes even I,
even I,
(as we all)
in the midst of screaming,
in the depths of self-imposed solitude,
need answering.

There are the clever few who know
the magic words:

I hear you…

A Voice Crying in the WordPress

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Like many of my fellow human beings,
I must acknowledge that I often feel
unacknowledged.

Supposedly,
blogging helps.
I’m told it “gives me a voice.”

Really, though,
it only makes things worse.

Before The Blog,
if I felt unacknowledged,
it was only by the select few within earshot:
the ones–you know them–
who always tell me how much they’ve missed me,
it’s been such a long time…
even though they have phones, cars, and feet…

as if somehow I were completely beyond their reach

But now,
Now
I feel unacknowledged by complete strangers
How’s that for irony?

The Code

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I’m trying to crack the code.

Am I not pretty enough?
Not funny enough?
Not hateful enough?
Where have I gone wrong?

This is not poetry, by the way–
nobody cares–
just centered because…
I felt like it.
Deal with it.

So much to “like”; so little time.

Is it because I don’t sport a cute girl-face on my Gravatar?
Perhaps I don’t ridicule others enough?
Or maybe it’s just me…
Maybe I just think I’ve something to say.

I’d be afraid this might turn you off,
you imaginary 977, you,
except no one’s likely to be turned on
long enough to be turned off.

Maybe, at the end of the day,
it’s that we all want to be heard
but no one really wants to listen.

Perhaps EgoPress would be a better name for this place…

I want to pull a Nixon,
to tell you you won’t have Vance to kick around no more…
but who can stop?
This stuff’s a drug–
it’s killing me but I gotta have it.

Mainline my inadequacy
till I burst a vessel…

Thank God this place has given me
a voice.