All My Blogging Friends Have Gone Social Media

My taste in music runs somewhat on the eclectic side, and with that being said, I like a little Honkytonk
song every now and then.  One of my favorites is All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down by Hank Williams Jr.   In the song Hank reminisces about the good old days when he and  his friends partied til dawn but since then, they have evolved into responsible people. Unlike his friends, I feel  my blogging friends(myself included) have settled into the speedy, condensed world of social media.  We've settled for writing short quips about our lives for a select few of our friends on Facebook; or relegating ourselves to 140 characters on Twitter.

It's all wonderful, this social media thing we've been exposed to, and granted blogging is considered a form of social media. Blogging differs in the fact that it offers the freedom to not have to change the word "You" to "U" or "too" to " 2" to get your point across It offers the freedom to completely fill the white screen with anything relevant or nonsensical you want; the ability to ramble to your little heart's content.

Why are we as a society so fascinated with everything "instant"?  If you can't catch someones attention with a six second video, a few sentences, or a picture, then you're dead in the social media water.  It's all become a bit busy and cluttered for me.  With this instant feedback,  a person could develop a narcissistic neurosis constantly checking their Facebook status or seeing if they have any mentions on Twitter, etc... Not that that's happened to me mind you.   I guess it all stems from the fact that we want to stay connected, but we feel as though we just don't have the time.

Still, it makes me wonder if we are so involved in interacting on the Internet that we've forgotten how to relate to each other in real-life.


Keep Calm
and uh...
Keep Calm,
Moni


Dope Quote of the Day:    "Time is what we want most, but what we use worst."   ~~William Penn~~

Retrospect, Introspect, Intellect, It's Still Rock-n-Roll to Me.

Don't you hate it when people start off a sentence with the words, "they say"? The person listening automatically assumes the speaker is going to fling some extraneous wisdom at them. Anyway; "they say", that hind sight  has 20/20 vision.  Looking over my shoulder at the traveled path behind me has provided me with some introspect.  I have found that I like saying things. I mean having a platform in which to say things, such as writing. Even though I'm not proficient at it,  I still like telling stories, mostly short ones, in the form poems, songs etc... On that note, here's a poem, a song without a chorus...I don't know, something I wrote. 

Righteous Garden

Did I pour out the rain on your righteous garden?
You assigned the blame but will you grant me pardon?
And I never thought I would see this day.
 I never thought it would be this way.
Nothing left for me to say in the silence.

When reckless tongues would faithful hearts,
and everything is torn apart...unraveled;
I hope that you would understand that I am so much
more than I am.

Does it matter?

The blue skies have gone away.
There's nothing left but ghostly gray.
Love crushed like petals on the ground
that once grew unblemished in a  righteous garden.

~~peace~~
     Moni

If a Blog Post Falls in the Forest..

If words are written on a page and no one's there to read them, do they still have the same meaning as they would if they had an audience?  I suppose they would have meaning to the writer; some cathartic characteristic, but other than that, nothing. I go for vast expanses of time before writing in my lonesome little blog because some times I think, "What's the use, not a lot of people read them, so what impact do they have?" I listened to a comedian singing a song once and he sang that his teacher would tell him to, "Write it on paper and save it for later."  Good advice for never missing the time when your muses are gently whispering in your ear.  As a result of this tidbit of useful advice, I have little snippets of what I consider to be absolute brilliance; if only in my mind, floating around my house.  lol  Yes, I know I can put thoughts on my tablet/phone, speak it into existence, but there's something about pen to paper.  Or, maybe I'm just so old-school that I can't be changed.

I cleaned up my bedroom the other day, I mean a thorough scrub down, drawers and everything.  Impressed?  I know, right?  lol  But I digress, I found little bits and pieces of poems, songs,  and two or three pages of a story I started, but never finished.  I'm such a lazy, procrastinating writer. I'm so enamored with the idea of writing, for the cathartic effect; yet I never follow it through to completion.  And so my dear cyber friends although it seems like I'm rambling like a honeysuckle bush on a country road, I'm actually running through my thought process.  Yeah, it's as good of an excuse as any.  lol

There are however; times I feel so strongly about the need to say something, write it down, and share it with others that I'm almost obsessed with getting it out.  I watched a PBS special the other day; yes sometimes I can and do learn. I was watching a documentary on the state of Parrots and the rippling ramifications of ecosystems, bird breeding, bird ownership and adoptive support for the birds.  It was a real eye opener.  In the documentary, topics like bird self-mutilation were addressed.  Parrots in the wild are very social animals and when they're neglected by their owners, they actually start to mutilate themselves in an effort to self soothe.  In the wild they would find a mate and the pair would stay together for the rest of their lives, and rarely be apart. I've posted the link here if you'd like to watch.  Well, I guess I've done enough rambling for one post so I will bid you a found farewell.  Until we meet again around the same blogosphere, bye.

~~Peace~~
     Moni 

p.s.  This one's for the birds.

We are starting to stand on our own now.
We are learning to fight somehow.
We can't go back to the place we were before;
no windows and no doors.
We want to be free.
We need to be free.
We ought to be free.

The Same Cloth

     I had the opportunity to live in a third world country for three years.  During my time in the Philippines, I learned so many things about the condition of my spirit and the condition of others around me.  I was crushed to see children begging in the streets and sometimes resorting to picking pockets. After all, I had never been out the small town in which I was raised.  It was all a bit of a culture shock to me.  Most of the time these children weren't even able to reap the benefits of their labors, because  they were working for adults.  As they skipped up and down dirt padded, pot hole ridden streets in worn flip flops and often barefoot; you could tell they still retained the innocence of their youth.  When you looked at their faces, you didn't see desperation; but faith, hope and dignity.  The same facets of humanity that will and can serve to elevate those wilted by poverty.

     My ex husband and I befriended a local teenage girl while we were there.  She invited us to her house for dinner.  We met in town and she proceeded to lead us down a dimly lit street until we came to a small building in a dilapidated section of town that served as her house.  She invited us in and introduced us to her three sisters.   I don't know where her parents were, I didn't ask.  We sat down at the table as the one bowl of rice with a pig knuckle perched atop was placed on the table.  A single bowl of rice capable of serving two was stretched to feed six.  One of her sisters pushed the bowl toward me and with a luminous smile plastered on her face said, "eat."  As I ignorantly searched for non existent silverware my ex husband leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Don't embarrass me, eat it with your fingers," and so I did.

     I learned a life lesson in that moment.  The girl and her sisters had demonstrated a Christ-like love in their sacrificial gift.  Things could have been worse, they could have had nothing to give.  The had very little, but you see they gave me so much.

     The presence of dignity doesn't mean there is an absence of poverty.  We are all of the same cloth.  We are flesh and bone and beating heart, stitched with faith, love and dignity.


     Unfortunately, poverty is not relegated to third world countries.  Here in the United States 1out of 5 children struggle with hunger and 62% of teacher say they see kids come to school hungry on a regular basis.*


Demonstrate your love by sponsoring a child through Compassion International today.


~peace~
Moni

*No Kid Hungry.org

Willing Hearts

Poverty:

Poverty is grinding.
It chains it's victims to their circumstance.
It sees no color, it knows no age.
It has no mercy.

Poverty can be fought,
fought with the hope and Agape love of willing
hearts.

Will you find it in your heart to fight for
children who cannot fight for themselves?

Be a willing heart; sponsor a child through Compassion International


~~peace~~
   Moni

Oh Gogh on Now

I'm not much of an art aficionado.  As in life as well as art, and the intermingling; I just know what appears pleasing to my senses.  Art in it's many forms is subjective right?  My daughter is gifted artist(sketching and Anime) while I myself cannot draw a stick figure.  Ah well, I came across this article and because it pertains to my favorite artists of all time I will share it with my Cyber friends.  It seems that a Van Gogh painting has been found in someone's attic.  Such a find would blow the Antiques Road Show cast right out of their antiquary socks.  I guess I love Van Gogh's paintings because chaos and serenity exists in the same place. Both well define and never crossing imaginary boundaries set by the artist.  I imagine his art reflected the state of his thoughts; of his mind.  Anyway, here's the article

My favorite Van Gogh.

 

 

 

 

Here's my daughter's latest...I'm so proud. She doesn't draw from reference either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope for the Sun to Shine

It won't be like this forever...
I kept telling myself that no matter how rough things got,
They would not stay like this forever.
No matter how vulnerable and alone I felt; there would be
kink in the chain that would lead to it's breaking.
And once again the sun would shine and I would be released.

I can hear them screaming from the next room.  She's giving him
an ultimatum and he's not hearing her.  He doesn't listen to her, she doesn't
listen to him.  They go around and around and then he leaves her crying in
the bed. They've done this a lot lately. 
This time it's different, this time he won't come back, and she
won't beg him either.  It's final, I know it.
People think kids don't know things, but we do.

Now I take care of her, she seems so weak and frail, not like she was before.
I feel like I'm the grown up.  I get myself ready for school and sometimes I
fix her breakfast.  We have no money for heating oil, no money for food sometimes.
Sometimes I don't think the world is fair; sometimes...

Now listen to me, 5 year old me.  It won't be like this forever.  You'll smile
again, I promise.  Night comes for a little while and in the morning the sun will come.
People helped us, the people who love us. When you have someone who loves you,
you have hope.  And when you have hope, the sun comes.  God loves his children,
and  because of his love, all God's children have hope.

This post was written in response to Compassion International's Blog Month.

~~peace~~
    Moni