I am old enough to remember when
Secrets, tips, and tricks weren't packaged by hacks
But were tidbits friends would share now and then
Some collective cultural artifacts
Trafficked in by gossips and lonely hearts
Information from human transmissions
Put in diaries the intimate parts
All of us left to our own suspicions
Hubris filled technology syndicates
The chief purveyors of all our data
Computers know what each click indicates
Our likes, loves and lusts sold while in beta
All your secrets now a commodity
Startups profiting from each oddity
It’s been a while since my last post. I’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff in my copywriting business, trying to find ways to create as I watch the beginning of the end of the world unfold around me, and wondering what’s wrong with me that I still want to try and find a way to become a fulltime creator amidst all this.
I wrote my first new poems tonight since December 2021, and I edited this sonnet from 2020.
I hope to have some new comics this next week.
Be the weird you want to see in the world!
Cheers,
Jason
There's nothing wrong with you for continuing to experience the need to create and imagining a future in which that sustains you. This is that resilience within us that won't let us quit when things seem hopeless. It's what keeps the people of Ukraine fighting in the face of the massive numbers of Russian soldiers who have invaded their country. It's called hope.