Monday, May 29, 2006

Ode to My Blog

(An update, inspired by Hamlet)

To be a blogger, or not to be: that is the question:

Nay, past 30 days and nights, and mine voice remain silent.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of a columnist who doth not blog or a blogger who doth not columnate.

Serve two masters … a foolish fancy? Perhaps. But a scribe’s dream:

Words without dictate, without limit. Words never to heaven go, but swirl for eternity in the great techno-divide.

O villain, villain, daunting, electronic damn'd villain!

“Build it and they will come, by thousands, by millions, ” words that taunt me still.

Seduced by thy templates, tutorials, promises of hard returns, double returns, FTP paths, HTML tags, RSS syndication and Adsense that made so much sense …

I fell captive to thy temptress’ song.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment until thy hearest from me

Thus was the very ecstasy of love.

O most pernicious .com woman!

Your wild and whirling words seduced so many of my creed.

I was but one of your suitors sent begging for favors:

“Come, visit, ping me, link me, take me home, please, please, please?

But to my mind, though I am native here. I am columnist. Man of local recognition. Words produced for modest, monetary reward. More words, more rewards.

Thus was the motivation of our mad, impetuous affair.

What is't but to be nothing else but mad?

Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.

To grunt and sweat under a weary life. Column by day, blog by night.

Easier to dream. Difficult to live.

Read, write, edit by day. Read, blog, edit by night.

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

But to persevere. In obstinate condolement is a course.
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;

Dick & George; a parody. Smite thy emperor’s throne. Shaggy hypocrisy laid bare. A walk with Christ, a pox on O’Reilly’s house;

Penniless pearls lost in a sea of more pearls, celebrity muse and pithy, petulant blather.

Oh, leftist lovers, mourners of darkened light and arrogant right, where art thou?

“Come, visit, ping me, link me, take me home, please, please, please?”

To be a blogger, or not to be: that is the question:

Perhaps, to take arms against a sea of troubles, admit thine humanity and render the renegade blogger’s voice to die: to sleep;

For all that live must die,

O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not.

Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Press on. Press on. By all means, press on!

To be reborn: that is the answer.

To blog as a columnist; never more.

Shackles of daily habit, tossed aside at dusk.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
Listen, while I speak once again

More matter, with less art. The rest is silence.

Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

By Sylvester Brown, Jr.

(With humble apologies to “the Bard”)
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