posts

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Posts Around

Some posts that swirled around somewhere and landed here.

This is a post made by Ferit Temur, a painting by Dogan Ural. Temur has fully understood the meaning of lonliness. He posts again and again of the anguished soul still able to say, “I am here, I am here. I am here and I am alone. This how it feels.” And for some, in the moment there is transcendence.

If you study the painting you will see it captures what cannot be said with words.

The painter or photographer Temur chooses is able to capture emotion and meaning, and Temur finds and shares them with us. Telling us that even in loneliness we are not alone.

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And a post by Art Deco 1920 to land on the other side of the page and an awfully different way of looking at things. (Notice the words of mine reflecting the trip back to the 20’s and 30’s. Awfully?)

Isn’t it gorgeous? Wouldn’t you love to see this on the dancefloor or be the one wearing it? If there ever was a time to go back to, it was the twenties. It was before the great depression, there were no wars, and it seems as if the whole country was in a joyous and happy mood. And the fashion of the day reflected the fun. Boop boop de-oop!

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The State of Affairs

Aka, The Way Things Are

I’ve just disconnected from Twitter. Somehow my personal page got hijacked and many tweets are displaying as retweeted by me. Not so! I tried repeatedly to block, mute, report, and undo the retweet to no success. I don’t want anyone to think that is my site, (just because it has my name attached to it!). Oh, and I redid all of the settings to basically allow nothing. Still it continues. So I’ve quit. This is all too bad as I was enjoying some of the tweets I was able to view. *sigh* And oh well. Bye-bye Twitter.

And, I don’t know how much longer Facebook is going to last for me. I’ve heard that it is over but I don’t know where people have gone. Perhaps nowhere. There certainly is a lack of interaction. Few posts, fewer comments. A good thing after all that.

Tumblr? I’m there but not really able to use it to any advantage. Basically unsure, certainly a novice. (Or whatever is below a novice.) And none of these attempts at connecting with others has led to book sales of The Fat Man. And so. And so this is where we are: me, my book, and social media. It should also be noted that all of this posting and fussing and doing and undoing keeps the writing at bay. Limits it certainly.

Here we are, then, at this sad state of affairs. The lock and load of frustration. The fractals of the Universe continuing without me while including me. Time to write.