The Nonproductive Net

You'll find nothing productive here
Follow me on Mastodon

(with apologies to Dr Seuss)

If you go on a tweeting
And scroll down your feed,
You’ll notice a bird called the Blue Check Mark Beetch.
In fact, there are two sorts of Beetches you’ll find:
The Blue Checked Mark kind, and the Un Checked kind.
The Blue Check Mark Beetches have Profiles with marks.
The Un Checked Beetches don’t have them on thars.

Now those Marks...
They’re not big. They are really so small
You’d think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all.
But, because of their marks, all the Blue Check Mark Beetches
Believe they’re the best kind of Beetch on the feedses.
Won’t talk to the others! They pass them right by
With their snoots high-and-mighty, stuck up in the sky.
Won’t ask them to go to their parties or sleigh rides,
Their ball games, their marshmallow roasts or their hay rides.

And the Un Checked Beetches...
Well, they get so mad
That they sometimes do things that are really quite bad,
And they throw dreadful things at the Checked Beetches heads...
Like insults and memes and the springs of old beds!
How they fight on those feedses,
Those unfriendly Beetches!
And all because Beetches whose bellies have marks
Think they’re better than Beetches with none upon thars.

(And, really, it’s sort of a terrible shame,
For, except for those marks, every Beetch is the same.)

There are days I clench my fist My brain descends towards violence Punishment, my earnest wish Instead I sit in silence

The world is hushed, A stillness all around, Just me and my thoughts. No obligations, No expectations, Just sweet serenity.

#writing #poetry #SweetSolitude

In the maelstrom of living, I find myself cast, Tossed in currents of present, future, and past. Tugged by the hands of a hundred unseen, Caught in a tempest, no moment serene.

Yet in this cyclone, a truth unfolds, In chaos, a harmony that life upholds. Each strain, each tug, a note in the score, A symphony of life, rich in its roar.

Even when swept by life’s riptide, Remember there’s a strength, deep inside. In every storm, there’s a center of calm, A quiet place, a soothing balm.

Amidst it all, I‘ll find my way, Over the cacophony, I’ll shout my say. Pulled apart, yet I remain whole, In this symphony, I play my role.

#BadPoetry

You often hear “live your life with no regrets.”

Throughout my life I've accumulated a million regrets.

The person I'd be without those regrets is nothing like the person I am. All of those mistakes...all of those regrets, have left their marks on me.

Some marks advise caution or restraint, some inspire kindness or remind me to be charitable. Others have instilled in me the capacity to forgive and to empathize.

Don't live your life with “no regrets” – live your life stupidly, live a life of adventure, fall in love and have your heart broken...

Grow a little more from every mistake.

#regrets #love #life #BeHuman

I thought I was their glass To be filled with their joys And held in their hands

I realized I was their water To be consumed by their thirst And left dirty from their touch

PROMPT: Write a contentious interview transcript between John Mastodon, creator of Mastodon social network and Sean Hannity of FOX news


Sean Hannity: Welcome to the Sean Hannity Show, I'm Sean Hannity and with me today is John Mastodon, the creator of the Mastodon social network. John, it's great to have you on the show.

John Mastodon: Thank you for having me, Sean.

Sean Hannity: So, John, I have to ask, what do you say to the critics who claim that Mastodon is just a breeding ground for left-wing extremist ideology and censorship?

John Mastodon: That's a baseless and irresponsible accusation, Sean. Mastodon is a platform for open and respectful dialogue, and we have strict community guidelines in place to ensure that all users are treated with respect and dignity. We do not tolerate hate speech or incitement to violence on our platform.

Sean Hannity: But what about the reports of Mastodon administrators suppressing conservative voices and promoting a liberal bias?

John Mastodon: Those reports are simply not true. Mastodon is decentralized and operated by a wide variety of individuals and organizations, and we do not have any centralized control over the content that is posted on the platform. We encourage all voices to be heard and welcome respectful and constructive debate.

Sean Hannity: But what about the instances of Mastodon users being banned for expressing conservative viewpoints?

John Mastodon: If a user violates our community guidelines, they may be temporarily suspended or banned from the platform. This is not a matter of political ideology, but rather a matter of ensuring that all users are able to express themselves without fear of harassment or abuse.

Sean Hannity: Well, I have to disagree with you on that, John. It seems to me that Mastodon is just another example of the left trying to silence conservative voices.

John Mastodon: That's simply not the case, Sean. Mastodon is a platform for free and open communication, and we welcome all voices to join the conversation. We encourage respectful debate and dialogue, and we believe that everyone has the right to express their opinions without fear of retribution.

Sean Hannity: We'll have to agree to disagree on this one, John. Thanks for joining us on the Sean Hannity Show.

John Mastodon: Thank you for having me, Sean. It's been a pleasure.


#ChatGPT #Politics #JohnMastodon #Mastodon

All the signs were there. All of the symptoms were there – but we missed it. Me, his mother, his doctors… In fairness to is doctors, we didn’t report every symptom. Who calls their doctor because they have dry skin? Or stomach cramps here and there? Or intermittent low grade fevers? It wasn’t until he had 2 months of diarrhea that we had the proper tests done to determine that his upper GI tract was filled with tiny ulcers and that is ileum was inflamed to the point of not absorbing nutrition from his food that we paid enough attention.

By the time we got an appointment to see a GI doctor he had lost 40 pounds and we were afraid it was cancer. Thankfully, that was not the case, but the diagnosis we received immediately put a huge lump in my throat.

As a parent I had failed. My one job was to ensure my child grows up safe, healthy and happy. I’ve failed on all counts. Is Crohn’s genetic? They are my genes. Is Crohn’s environmental? I created the environment. Is it Diet? I had control over his food. No matter how you look at this I am at least partially to blame for a disease that will alter the rest of his life and – if not controlled, cause him tremendous misery for years.

I’m not sure anything can prepare you for the news that your child is not perfect. That somehow they are broken. Consider how you would process the news that your child was a serial killer. Somehow their wires were crossed. Did you do this? Were you somehow responsible? Now replace that with news that your child has a progressive disease that is confirmed to be clearly, however minutely, your fault. It’s devastating on multiple levels. In some capacity you hurt your own child. On another level, that perfect life you wished for them is now going to be harder than it should be. They will carry this stigma of having a disease – in this case a potentially embarrassing poop related disease. You did this. You have cursed your child to poor health and hardship. Process that.

It’s also impossible not to treat him differently now. I know that this is not going to be fatal for him. It’s common enough that modern medicine is inching towards an actual cure – possibly in his lifetime. The guilt compels me to want to give him more than I should.

He doesn’t want to eat the way his doctor suggested. So I make excuses as to why it’s ok. I give into his whims more than I should because I feel like I’ve hurt him. I’m sure this will pass. I’m sure I’ll come to grips with it at some point.

Right now though, I feel like I’ve ruined his life.

#personal #writing

When he was 6, Charlie saw the shadow for the first time. He passed it in the living room as it lurked, silently, shortly after his father was killed in a car accident. He wouldn’t understand until many years later what his father’s death did to his immediate family and relatives. What he did know, was the shadow was there now, where he never noticed it before.

For a period of time after his father’s funeral, the house was always full during the day. Family and neighbors seemed to spend more time at his house than their own. At night, however, when everyone went home and Charlie was laying in bed, the shadow would appear. Sometimes he would see it moving through the hallway, other times it would seem to linger in the doorway to his room. It was silent, but it’s presence made the air feel heavy. Charlie shared a room with his brother, Dan, and knew that he saw the shadow too. He could tell that his older sister, Karen, noticed them too – but neither of his siblings would ever acknowledge them or speak about it.

Karen and Dan spent as much time out of the house as possible. They were older than Charlie and would spend a lot of time at their friend’s houses. They knew that the shadow never appeared outside the house. Because he was only 6, Charlie didn’t really have that option… He would play outside with his friends as much as possible, but he still had to be home when it got dark. Luckily, the shadow only appeared after he went to sleep and his bed covers offered ample protection.

Charlie’s uncles came by the house often after his father’s death. Most of their time was spent working on the house and managing stuff that his dad used to do. It was all strange to him. His dad worked long hours and he rarely saw him outside of the weekends, but now his uncles seemed to have a lot of work to do – even during the week – and they seemed really interested in having his help. He would try to help, but couldn’t do much. It never seemed to bother them though. He wondered why the shadow never appeared when they were there. Maybe it hid from them. Maybe they didn’t see what he saw. When they’d leave though, it was always waiting for bed time.

Most nights the shadow would be pretty quiet. Content to pass the doorway or whisper in the hallways. But after some months it began to wail and pound on the walls. Charlie would wake up to find broken dishes in the kitchen and chairs overturned. His mother would be picking up the mess but never acknowledged what had happened. She knew the shadow made the mess.

Years went by and the shadow was always there. Charlie was afraid that if his friends knew they’d be scared to play with him so he rarely had them over. There were just a few that he trusted. A couple were even brave enough to sleep over. Those friends saw it too. They would try to pretend it wasn’t there for his sake though. A sideways look when it passed by was the only acknowledgment.

Eventually Charlie learned to live with the shadow. It never tried to hurt him and he could block out the noise it made. He never got blamed for the shadow’s messes and his uncles never seemed to be concerned for his safety. There was nothing to worry about.

When he was 16 the shadow spoke to him for the first time. Charlie’s brother was killed in a car accident and the house was once again full of people during the day. This time, though, it didn’t last as long. The house was more empty and the shadow grew bolder. One day when he came home from school the house was dark. All the shades were pulled and the dogs were nervous. As he walked into the kitchen he heard it drawing in air. Too much air, it seemed, for what followed. A single eye, glowing red, flared up angrily illuminating the contours of it’s shape before exhaling in a whisper, “it should have been you...” The smell of things burning would infect his nose and then silence. Heavy, smothering silence that closed his throat and made each second it took to move away feel like hours.

(To be continued...someday)

This is the story of Robert (Bob) Tate and how each day he put food on the plate of each of his kids and his loving wife. (And all that it cost him was having a life.)

The place that he worked seemed much like a zoo. With weasels and parrots and chimpanzees too! (The monkeys, I’ve heard, just loved slinging poo.)

He showed up each day, our Robert (Bob) Tate, He worked very hard and never was late. (Even those days he didn’t feel great.)

On some days the weasels, when taking some flak, would divert attention with a stab in the back. (Because it’s much better If they all blame Jack.)

The parrots we mentioned could baffle a sleuth. Repeating all statements regardless of truth! (A skill they picked up no doubt in their youth)

The chimps in the office were the worst of all: Flinging their feces on windows and walls. (Somehow they’d hit you through the phone on a call.)

Backstabbing weasels and shit spewing chimps; the parrot ass kissers are only a glimpse. (I’ve not even mentioned the meddling imps!)

Poor Robert (Bob) Tate our struggling guy, Dealt with these people every day to get by. (If I said it was easy I’d be telling a lie.)

He dreaded each day and the start of each week. But the job paid the bills and Tates needed to eat. (Bob couldn’t bear his kids out on the street.)

So each day he worked drained both strength and mind. Exhausted and broken from the daily grind. (A common occurrence I’m sure you will find)

#poetry #DrSeuss #life

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