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Posted in social media, Twitter

Limits

Lake Scene by Philip Froman

I will try not to be angry. Not to vent. Not to litter this post with expletives. But, well, there is this….

If you have followed me on Twitter, under the handle, KeyboardMaven, you may have noticed that my account is suspended. I don’t know how, but I broke their “Rules.”

What is particularly infuriating about their action is that they now want a phone number in order to let me back into my account. My response to this? NO (biting tongue) WAY.

Considering the state of the planet, the way the climate is warming, I don’t think Hell has frozen over.

Also, considering the way Twitter handles their accounts, why (biting tongue) would I give them this information? Why (still biting) would I think this is a good idea?

I ended my relationship with Facebook years ago, chiefly because of their bad, and worsening behavior, and a growing sense of self-disgust for supporting it. Then I did the same with other social media sites, because they had become a drain on my time and energies. This turned out to be a wise move. But I stayed on Twitter to be connected with a handful of writers and musicians I like, and share updates and new posts on my blog. Since I am no longer posting with any frequency, and do not feel the sense of importance regarding my creative output I once did, and have little to share beyond a few gripes and stray thoughts, it occurred to me that Twitter had become yet another drain.

I’ve written about this before—the idea that creative people need to be visible and connected on social media in order to be relevant, but I know wonderful writers and musicians who’ve stayed away from it, and I was approaching the conclusion they have the right idea when Twitter, in their infinite wisdom, decided they needed a piece of personal information from me. The truth is, I’m not angry about the fact that they’ve suspended and locked me out of my account. I’m only angry about their sense of entitlement to information I am unwilling to give.

We all have limits. And those are mine.

So, I’m done with them, declaring my independence from this last vestige of social media (removing teeth from tongue), and feeling calmer for it.

Stay safe. Be well. Choose wisely.

Peace.

Update: 9/18/21: I received an apology from Twitter saying that my account was mistakenly flagged as spam, and that they had unlocked it. I then logged in and deactivated my account.

Posted in art, Irony, poetry, women

Portrait

“Mademoiselle Boissiere Knitting” by Gustave Caillebotte

Old woman, bent with needle,
spinster, maiden, Mademoiselle,
intent on plaiting fictions.

Each stroke demands restraint.
She is compliant,
bound in proper bonnets, sturdy bows,
and stems an urge for wild unraveling.

Yet blushing cheeks,
nacreous rainbows in her purls,
their molten, platinum shimmer,
betray a piqued suppression.

Too late for one revolution,
too early for another,
she can’t escape the irony—
that immortality’s fabled truths are
are belied by deft impressions.

©2021 All Rights Reserved

Posted in composition, COVID-19, creativity, Fathers, holidays, writing

Moving On….

Painting by Philip Froman

The painting above has no title. My father completed this when he was in his eighties, after taking up a brush for the first time in his seventies. If you look closely, and listen, you can almost hear the water crash against the cliffs, feel its force. Standing in direct contrast to this painting, is a lake scene he painted around the same time which conveys only silence and peace. Both represent the man he was, his reflections about his life, and acceptance of the choices he’d made.

***

For over a year I’ve been trying to sustain the appearance of writing, while not having any interest in writing. Other than the words on this blog, and the occasional letters to family and friends, I’ve produced nothing.

I can’t blame the virus, as tempting as it is. The ideas, and desire to shape them, started drying up long before COVID-19. It just took a year of solitude to accept it.

***

A composer friend suggested I should start composing again—tentatively, gently, as though he understood he was asking me to revisit a space I’d shuttered. I stopped composing after graduate school, for many of the same reasons I don’t write now.

I considered it briefly, grateful for the compliment, but then abandoned the idea. Sometimes we shutter spaces because they’ve become voids; and sometimes those voids become vacuums.

***

For the present, I will keep this site going. Information about books will remain, as will old posts, interviews, and guest posts. From time to time I might even recycle old material I think would be of interest, or entertain.

***

Wherever you are, please stay safe, be well, and care deeply for those you love. And thank you for reading and following.

©2021 All Rights Reserved