I can no longer think long enough
to create a well written piece of
blogliterature like I once was able
to wax. My life is a summary.
Minute (small) details. Incomplete.
It's a sad state.
Think back, I see why my substance-light
answers to the questions mom and dad
were asking me drove them bonkers at times.
They need details. I provided bread crumbs.
They desired loaves. I was well ahead of my
time and without the fancy contraptions tweeted
them to the best of my limited vocabulary.
Some promote this medium as a way to
practice the ability to be concise in getting
across a message.
I see it as a way (evidenced by many many tweeters)
of the futility of saying anything worth
"following" in such a limited amount of
Maybe I'm just becoming an aging fuddyduddy.
Or maybe, just maybe, we as a society are
promoting less communication disguised
as mass communication.