But all my words come back to me, in shades of mediocrity

But all my words come back to me, in shades of mediocrity

Almost midnight.  I haven’t stayed up late in a while.  My soul is unquiet again, and I am restless and trapped. Went around to the old haunts online, but used a hidden nom-de-plume.  I recognized some of the old chatters, even some who had changed their screen names.  But I just didn’t want to pick that part of my life up again, and headed to the blogs.

That was a mistake.  After several posts by bigoted, intolerant people who were patting themselves on the back for their … *ahem!* … tolerance, I sat back and thought about it for a bit.  I don’t think I would have one of these people in my house for an evening.  

They are way too fragile and I would end up walking the minefield of their correct speech, correct politics, correct education, and smug disdain they have for those who challenge them, makes me want to deflate them.  Just a little.

I don’t know where to go from here. 



  1. Don't let the confines of another's character limit the expanse of your own. Write it out, as that article that you shared with me once from Christopher Hitchens. He said that the only trick to writing was to be honest, speak in your own voice, and be interesting. His poisoned caveat was to ask his perspective writers if they thought they were interesting.

    That's the trick, isn't it. Well, the answer is easy enough. Are you honest? Do you say what you truly feel? Because there isn't, in any of us, Bard, or profane street poet, more to offer.

    Write Rusty, and damn them if they don't read it. Write it because you have to. Write it because it makes you smile to write, and perhaps even pleases you to be read.

    -Ward Kerr, you know, Herodotus.

  2. Probably nothing to worry about, Ward ... late night rants seem to draw from a very despondent well.


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