Wednesday, February 18, 2015


I'm not sure, but could Twitter conceivably be boring?

I don't know. It sure is annoying, even though I need it to exist if only to promote my work. Gosh.

I had an idea only to write Zen koans there. You know what those are, right? Brief, enigmatic word strings that might mean something you'll never figure out. Like a Kelly Link story, but shorter.

Example: What is the sound of one hand clapping?

Now you get it.

Here's the thing: very few on Twitter would "get it," and might blow them off as self-indulgent noodling. They'd be correct.

Akin to the writing style I'm using here. Precise. Lean. Fat-free. Dead.

My initial awareness of "koans" came via Hollywood, and the 1970s TV series Kung Fu. Great show. Carradine before...whatever. Kicks and punches delivered with some humanity to the torso and face, as such things ought to be. Quietly too, as was I during those years. One of my favorites: "There are three parts to a man. How he sees himself. How others see him. And who he really is."

Still digesting that as genuine wisdom, and I honestly believe it is. Bit of the old-school Existentialism, with no binders. Feel free to use it while standing in line at the grocery store, DMV, wedding buffet, etc. It's fun. True, not quite up there with "My powers are beyond your understanding."

But how to employ this ancient wisdom on Twitter with the twit-nits? One of which I am whom. Not easy, Skippy, when every other 20-something waxes wise-ass and stamps same with inexplicable "hash tags," which remain utterly incomprehensible to me. Say your deal, and shut up. Word. Log off, please, and go back to capturing moody images of your new shoes in order to flummox people like me who'll say "Why the screamin' hell should I give one actual fuck?"

If at first you don't succeed, go read a book.

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