Thursday, August 29, 2013

Day 235 of the 365 Days of Blogging

The author, Dane F. Baylis






Everybody has a right to their opinion! The Internet as equalizer has proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt. At first it was limited to those with the means to afford a computer and a hardline connection. But the fetters were cut with the proliferation of cell towers, Satcom, and phones smaller than a pack of cigarettes and only slightly more expensive.
What has this meant to society as a whole and you as an individual? To start with, hardly anybody is unreachable. From the Inuit in the frozen north, to Bantu tribesmen deep in the Congolese rainforest, anyone who wants to can connect. Once you've accomplished that one small step, you are instantly transformed into receiver or sender.
Being a receiver would seem a pretty benign state, right? It would be, until you realize how many scams, shams, and flim-flams are immediately targeted directly at you. I'm not even talking about the ones that want to send you, for safekeeping, the entire cash reserve of a small African nation undergoing some rather nasty shifts in political ideology. All they need is your bank account number so they can transfer a ton of money into it. Sure, here's my SSN and a routing number! Then there are also all the opportunities to convert your every key stroke into a digital profile of your deepest, most persistent desires. Not to mention entertaining reading to some clerk in a cubicle in the National Security Agency.
Forget personal financial ruin. What about all the socio-political mumbo-jumbo? I guarantee you, no matter how clear and well thought out you may feel your positions are, there is somebody just itching to convince you, or all your acquaintances, should you continue in those beliefs, global collapse is imminent. We have reached a period that would warm the heart of Josef Goebbels, Propaganda Minister of the Third Reich. Every side seems to have adopted the tactic of "if you repeat a lie often enough and with enough conviction it becomes the truth". From spiritual zealots of every denomination and creed to the incredible intolerance of the tolerant; if you raise a serious question, or worse yet, take a sarcastic swipe at somebody's diety, cause, or candidate, you had better be wearing body armor over flame retardant lingerie.
Then there's the showcase aspect of the entire networking phenomena. Do you really want to hear me hold forth on the talent show of the talentless? The illiterate literati? The touchy-feely, let me grope you in the comfort of your office, den, or automobile neediness of the emotionally inept? Yeah, I know, but tell us how you really feel, Dane. This endeavor has become the domain of those who have had so little intimate contact with other flesh and blood, face-to-face people, that they think that's the natural state of the beast. Really? Get the hell out of your own constricted shit hole of a life and try, for just a moment, try to conceptualize what it means to honestly love and hate, to hurt and rejoice, to revel in waking up one more time even though you were sure the whole thing was headed for the dumper as soon as you closed your eyes! Get a fucking life, please!
Who the hell am I? I'm the guy willing to call them as I see them, then give you the floor, or knock you to it! And this is just a little philosophical fanfare from your Uncle Dane.
          The two dykes from up the block
          Had it out on the sidewalk
          In front of my door
          In the middle of the night.

          I stood there listening
          Sipping a cup of tea
          Which is my usual stupid reaction to vicious love.
          Words flashed out of the darkness
          An open handed slap
          Sent tears sparkling in the street light

          I admired the convoluted originality of epithet
         The verbal gymnastics
         That only those unfettered by gender’s ineptitude
         Can be capable of

         Tempers cooled
         The night emptied
          I lay naked on my bed
         One hand shielding my prick
         Glad the wounds
         Weren’t mine to lick

          This time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------, love, write.
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Dane F. Baylis

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