Pithy Entries and Social Media

 I am again contemplating, as I have in the past, the abandonment of most social media. I've been asking myself, this time, what is it that draws me back to it, what causes the addiction? I've asked many other people who I know and respect the same question: Why do we have to keep coming back?

I'm not going to answer that question at this time. I need to meditate on it longer, possibly much longer, before I can come to a natural conclusion and do what I need to do. 

I swore in the past that I would NOT let this blog devolve into a long-form twitter/instagram/facebook/blusky/mammoth/fill-in-social-media-platform here. I am developing a strong dislike for the pithy. And yet, there are times when I feel the need to post something that is rather short and unprofound. Here I am doing just that right now. I suppose it's part of a transition.

My writing area is in the top floor of my house. My record player (well, my better record player, as opposed to the record player of my childhood) is in the basement. So, I've been slowly migrating records downstairs. Tonight, I brought down Hawthonn's wonderful Red Goddess (of this men shall know nothing) and played it before putting it away on the shelf.  Of course, I gave it a spin. It's one of the first pieces of vinyl I purchased, actually, I think it was the first I purchased since 1987. It really rekindled my love for vinyl. For those who have heard it and held it, you're probably saying "of course it did. How could it not?"

While listening (I am one of those people who can listen and read at the same time), I read David Tibet's essay"Why I Looked to the Southside of the Door," which is, as one would expect with his writing, elliptical, peeking around the corner, just out of sight, and absolutely enveloping in its charisma. From Coptic grammar to more nicknames than I can keep track of to, of course, Current 93 (don't all roads lead to Current 93 after all?), we journey with Tibet through vast halls of implication, intellect, and imagination. 

On top of this, after a clear, calm day, an incredible lightning storm rolled in. At first, being in the basement, I thought someone was moving furniture on the main floor, then I felt that telltale rumble that indicates that the gods are angry. I went upstairs (to the main floor) and turned out the lights, watching the lightning storm. A block away, on one of the city's main arterial roads, I watched car lights occasionally zip by while the sky became (quite literally) electric. Just beneath my living room windows, where we have a storied thorn bush growing (storied because we've had two families of children raised in it: three robins last year and a cardinal this year), fireflies glowed, as they do this time of year. I penned the following trite missive which I am including here because it was all part of a moment:

The lacerating chaotic violence of lightning shattering the Gates of Heaven

. . . between . . .

Car lights filing down a busy street,

Humans with

Thoughts,

Passions,

Aspirations

at the wheel

. . . between . . .

A stately procession of fireflies;

lift, light, drop

lift, light, drop

Mating awaits.

"It's the amps that kill"

- They say - 

There you are. A social media post outside of social media. Me, shouting at the social media storm, pissing in the virtual wind. Somehow, I'll find my way.

________________________

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