Kurt Brindley's Blog, page 129
November 3, 2014
“PRO” TIP: IF I CAN’T FIND YOU DO YOU EVEN REALLY EXIST?!
Short version – No.
Less short version – A big fat ontological and/or (your choice) existential, HAYULL NO!
Look, Poet (and by Poet I mean it to include all Writers and all Artists and all Photographers and all Tree House Interior Designers and all…heck, I guess to me a Poet is just about any daydreaming Creator of the Sublime one could possibly imagine, regardless the flavor) I don’t mean to wax philosophical on your poetically waxing arse, but in my world (which, in my world, is the only world that really matters), if you’re more than two clicks of the mouse away from me, then you, my insecure little dream drawer, are dead to me.
Wait, if you don’t exist to begin with, then is it still possible for you to be dead to me?
Oh boy*, this philosophical stuff can get philosophically fuzzy real fast…
So, what do you say we just take a quick sidestep around that descartianly dangerous detour we were about to head down…
Besides, it just wouldn’t be rational within the context of me trying to save and secure your irrationally insecure existence within the existence of my irrationally insecure world, which, I believe I already indicated most redundantly, is the only world that really matters.
Oh boy*…
So anyway, back to the safety of my shallow point of a “Pro” Tip, if I have to go even slightly out of my way to find you…
Poof!
Just like that you disappear.
Look, for me, and by me I mean us, at least those of us who are out there, and by there I mostly mean in the WordPress Reader, practically 24/7 pounding the pavement and beating the bushes (Coming soon, my next confessional: If I could marry a Cliche I would) looking to be swept off our creative-seeking feet by you and all those Poets who wanna be like you…
But in order for you to be able to sweep me off my creative-seeking feet, I first must be able to recognize your existence, which means you need to be right there next to me, present and accounted for, ready to welcome me to your domain at a moment’s notice, night or day, rain or shine…(ah, my sexy and ubiquitous little cliches, where would I be without thee? Well, for starters, I just might be properly agented and published, perhaps…sigh)
(J/k…agents and publishers are for sissies)
(Yeah…right)
(Sigh…)
Anyway…
As long as I’m in the WP Reader, it’s all good for the most part.
In there, I can find you and, if you compel me to do so, there are multiple links within the Reader that I can click that will bring me right like rain into your poetic domain.
Easy enough…
But finding you in the WP Reader is all a matter of luck. Posts are flowing fast through that stream, especially in the “Writing” tag where I mostly hang out.
I’d say chances of me finding you there within all that fanciful flotsam are pretty thin.
I guess I could find you if I were fortunate enough for you to find me first.
And now we’re starting to get closer to the quickly dulling point of this “Pro” Tip…
But we’re still not there yet.
Because even if you do visit my site the only way I’m going to know about it is if you “Like” or comment on one of my posts.
And what are the chances of that happening?
I’d say barely minimal if we were to take into account all the millions of WP Poets who are populating this proliferatingly populated planet.
But let’s say, for the argument’s sake — and for the merciful sake of me finally getting to the seemingly forever elusive point of this “Pro” Tip — that you did find me and “Like” and/or comment on one of my posts…
Then, yes, I would have proof of your existence in my Notification Archives, right?
Right. Of course, right. And that’s great and all…
At least for a short period of time.
Because as new notifications come in, the older ones get pushed farther and farther back into the forsaken and forgotten dustbin of digital history until finally…
You are “poof” no more…
And that makes me sad.
But, alas…
Alas, finally, alas…
Yay and hurrah, alas, we have finally arrived to the less than pointy tip of the Tip.
Um, excuse me, would you mind waking up now?
Great.
Alas, we have yet a tiny bit of evidence that may or may not prove that you do exist.
We have, alas, your gravatar picture located at the bottom of the post, where the “Likes” tend to gather.
And that, my patient Poet, is where I choose to go, prefer to go, to find you…
It is from there, that point of positivism where the gravatar representation of you exists, where you and I can hopefully begin to build a long-term friendly and collaborative relationship…
Or not…
You know, I like being “Liked.”
And I like to “Like” things that I like.
So, I hear you asking, why not put those “Likes” that I like so much together to find new friends and collaborators?
Exactly…
For me, that is the number one way that I like go about finding new friends and collaborators…by visiting the domains of those who were kind enough to visit my domain and “Like” one of my posts.
If you “Like”or comment on one of my posts or pages, I can guarantee there will come a day that I will want to return the kindness.
There will come the day when I will click on your gravatar photo and hope and pray like hayull to the Writing Gods that you have properly set up your Gravatar Account so I can find you, visit your domain of a website, and allow you to cast your creative magic of a spell all about me.
Because I do…I really do…want to read your words or marvel at your photography and/or artwork in whatever form in which it may exist.
I really really do.
But, chances are pretty good that there is a pretty good chance I won’t be able to find you…
Because, based upon my slightly more than casual observances, chances are pretty good that you haven’t fully…or even minimally…set up your gravatar profile.
And that makes me sad.
It makes me sad whenever I click on your profile to learn more about you and to ultimately visit your domain to like and to “Like” you, and when I get there I find, to my sad dismay, that you do not have your website linked there.
What is a boy* to do?
I mean, I could try doing a google search or try typing in your handle followed by .wordpress.com…
And I have tried that on occasion…
And on occasion it has worked.
But let’s face it, mostly when I find myself at a gravatar profile that doesn’t, at a minimum, have a website linked to it…
All I can do it back arrow my way back home, back to my domain…alone.
And that’s pretty sad.
Yeah…
So, to help keep me unsad, please please please go to gravatar.com, sign in with your WordPress.com account if you have one (and why wouldn’t you? all the cool people do…), create a new account if you don’t, and then set up your gravatar profile all proper-like so I can find you, and worship your creativity, and become happily unsad.
And, I admit, there are quite a few steps involved in this process — so many that I am not even going to begin to list them all — so I can understand why so many of you Poets have accounts that lead me to No where…to No one…to your non-existence.
But, I really believe that if you are serious about poeting seriously and getting your magic mojo in front of as many creative-seeking eyeballs as possibles, you really should invest the time and effort to set up a smoking hot gravatar profile.
And even if you aren’t interested in doing all the work required to get your profile to the smokin’ hot level, then please please please, at minimum, at least, link your WordPress.com website to the profile. You can you at least, at a minimum, do that for me?
Can’t you?
Please…
Then, when I click on your gravatar image at the bottom of one of my posts I will find more than just your pretty gravatar face…
I will find a link to your website…
Thereby, I will find a link to you…
And a way to validate your existence.
Yeah…
Philosophical poetry…
Okay?
Perfect.
Here are a couple screenshots to give you an example of what’s involved in setting up your gravatar profile (click to enlarge)…
Now, I don’t know if my gravatar profile is smoking’ hot or not but I do know I have done my darnedest to take advantage of all the Gravatar options possible to make it as tight and professional-looking as possible, and as easy as possible for you to find me…
And by doing so, you, with your kindness and your favor, will validate my existence…
And that truly makes me unsad.
*non-gender specific
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Filed under: "Pro" Tips Tagged: authors, existence, existentialism, gravatars, humor, ontology, philosophy, Pro Tips, profiles, WordPress, writers, writing
November 2, 2014
Give me one hour to chop down a tree…
And I’ll spend the first forty-five minutes sharpening the axe.
~ Abraham Lincoln
………………..(abridged)
Filed under: Photography Tagged: Abraham Lincoln, axioms, chopping wood, efficiency, life, living, nature, photography, pictures, planning, presidential quotes, quotes, wood pile, work ethic
Just when the Happily Disgruntled Writer thought that, with NaNoWriMo, he had witnessed the least attractive acronym in the history of acronyms…
November 1, 2014
Wiffle Bats
Wiffle bats, baseball hats,
Touch football,
Flowers in the spring,
Leaves in the fall,
Climbing up the neighbor’s tree,
Swimming in the lake,
A mug of hot chocolate,
A barbecued steak,
Catching frogs and fireflies,
Angels in the snow,
Nighttime crickets chirping,
Thunderclouds so low,
Whistling with my fingers,
Chewing on some grass,
The seasons as they come,
And the seasons as they pass.
Wiffle bats, baseball hats,
Touch football,
I love so many things in life,
I couldn’t name them all.
From Poem Man
Filed under: Poetry Tagged: baseball, children's poetry, football, life, love, Poem Man, poetry, rhymes, seasons, snow angels, thunderclouds, wiffle ball, writing
The Happily Disgruntled Writer Welcomes in November…
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Filed under: Humor Tagged: art, authors, books, cartoons, comics, drawing, graphic art, Happily Disgruntled Writer, humor, NANOWRIMO, satire, writing, writing humor
The Happily Disgruntled Writer Welcomes in November
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Filed under: Humor Tagged: art, authors, books, cartoons, comics, drawing, graphic art, Happily Disgruntled Writer, humor, NANOWRIMO, satire, writing, writing humor
October 31, 2014
Only In The Movies
What a bunch of nonsense.
He sighed and looked at his watch: easily another thirty minutes of torture remained. If the score hadn’t been so loud at least he’d be able to nap discreetly until it was finally over. He looked down at his date: she had curled herself up in her seat and was holding tightly onto his arm, using it as a shield whenever a scene became too unbearable for her to watch.
He looked back to the screen: what garbage. Look at that idiot going into the house like that knowing what he knows. Like someone would really do that.
He sighed again and wondered how someone whom he had met in the library’s science section, among all the physics books, no less, and who had seemed to him to be so rational and perceptive and…smart, could, firstly, choose such nonsense for their inaugural date and, secondly, enjoy the nonsense as much as she seemed to be enjoying it.
There came a sudden scream from the screen, then, near-simultaneously, came a scream from his date, and then, finally, from within his own head came the loudest scream of all as a self-chastisement for killing off so many of his own brain cells with such nonsense.
#
The car came to a stop in front of a lonely, darkened house. She put the transmission into park and pressed the button to kill the already silent engine.
He sighed.
She looked at him with a seductive smile and said, “So, didn’t you say something about having the house all to yourself this weekend?”
“Did I?” he said brusquely.
“Yes, you did,” she replied. She lightly placed her hand on his thigh and leaned across him to look out his window. “Your house looks so dark and lonely. Maybe I better come in with you so you don’t, you know, get scared in there all by yourself.”
He scoffed and opened the door. “Look, thanks for such a…well…interesting evening. But I’m a little tired so, perhaps it’s best that we just say goodnight here.” Without waiting for her to reply, he got out of the car, gave her another quick thanks, and then closed the door.
Incredulously, she watched as her date walked toward the empty house. As she sat there in the driver’s seat trying to figure out what had just happened, she noticed the silhouette of a rather large person in the second-floor window looking down on the scene below.
She was certain her date had said that his roommates were going to be gone for the weekend. She looked back up at the window. Still, someone was in the house.
Both she and the large silhouette watched as her date unlocked the front door, stepped inside the house, and closed the door behind him. She waited, expecting a light to be turned on, but the house remained dark.
She looked up at the window. The silhouette was gone.
Was that a scream?
Goosebumps, hardly having subsided after the haunting movie, returned with a chill.
Yes, that was definitely a scream, she concluded as she pressed the starter button. The engine softly came back to life and then went silent as she quickly, but resolutely, drove away from her disappointed date’s lonely and darkened house.
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Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: culture, dating, fiction, flash fiction, Halloween, human nature, living, movies, mystery, sexism, short stories, stereotypes, women, writing
As Clowns
Ezra the Clown
Haruki the Clown
Gary the Clown
Franz the Clown
Ernest the Clown
Tom the Clown
Jonathan the Clown
Harvey the Clown
Kurt the Clown
aka
Kurt the Greater Clown
aka
Kurt the Dead Clown
Kurt the Clown
aka
Kurt the Lesser Clown
aka
Kurt the Living Clown
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Filed under: Humor Tagged: authors, clowns, Ernest Hemingway, fiction, Halloween, holidays, humor, Kurt Cobain, music, musicians, scary clowns, singers, writing
