A Walk-On Part in the War

I had someone the other day, I'm sure with the best of intentions, tell me they liked to stop by and read the stuff posted in this space, but "you need to understand people who tend to read blogs don't really like to read." 

That's okay. 
Not for general consumption, but I think people who like to write blogs not only  don't like to write, they especially don't like to write for people who don't like to read. I'd like to think that caustic comment makes us even but I fear I was born, and will remain, odd.

He suggested I consider radically shortening everything, condensing it and reducing it; sort of like haiku for IMs or Twitter. Plato or Socrates with hashtags. I'm smiling trying to imagine this stuff. I'm seeing Shakespeare sitting across from his agent as they reduce Macbeth to 140 characters. Art for art's sake, money for god's sake. 

Anyway, he believes we, as the crown of creation in this food chain, are very much akin to goldfish, in terms of having  memories and attention spans that last all of thirty seconds. I'm thinking the current political debates sort of prove his point, but I'll never tell him that. 

And when I read how we whine about our environment, our economics, our national and international relations (or you pick a subject), it's certainly looking like we are, indeed, heading that way. Except that doesn't make it right. As Voltaire once offered, if twenty million people believe in a stupid thing, it is still a stupid thing. And he had never even seen a Republican Presidential debate on Fox News. 

What can I say? 
Stop being a lost soul swimming in a fish bowl year after year. Never mind Wish You Were Here. We are here now. Be. Do. Soon enough we'll be gone.What have you found? The same old fears.He said to keep it short and punchy. I did. Now go play in traffic.
-bill kenny