tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post4342110795695642647..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Doors ClosingKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-88705329582399536392018-02-20T20:52:35.015+00:002018-02-20T20:52:35.015+00:00I'm still here. Just look down a little furth...I'm still here. Just look down a little further...I'm the short one, trying to see over everyone's head. And I'm waving at you. I can still hear you even if I have to ignore the whining people. Thank heavens you're still there, offering me a way out. :)hopehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03306622656461205674noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-67912254077598657932018-02-20T06:46:10.195+00:002018-02-20T06:46:10.195+00:00A few days ago I read an interesting article on th...A few days ago I read an interesting article on the BBC’s website: <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-42974551" rel="nofollow">Eight reasons Facebook has peaked</a>. It doesn’t say anything really new but it’s a nice summary. You and I have, of course, discussed social media before so I’ll try and not repeat myself. My main gripe—and this extends to sites like IMDB and Amazon—is: Why do people have to ruin everything? Facebook at its core was a great idea and I suppose if you only have a couple of dozen friends who are mostly your family it still works. I always see anything my wife’s posted as soon as I log on which I dutifully—since you told me off—like and click on and earn my Brownie points for the day. On that level it seems to still be business as usual. It’s the rest I struggle with. I’ve had an idea for a poem buzzing around in my head for ages but it refuses to find form. I can’t, however, get the phrase out of my head: “Why am I here?” This isn’t unusual for me and I don’t worry about it but it’s fixed in my head now and every time I open up Facebook I find myself facing that (seemingly unanswerable) question. I hardly like anyone’s posts and I comment on even fewer. About the only thing I genuinely enjoy are the clips of animals being cute; they actually <i>do</i> make me happy for a few seconds. The rest I merely scroll through dutifully—it feels like that’s what drives me—and as soon as I hit something I recognise from the last time I looked that’s me. It’s a chore to get out the road.<br /><br />I don’t think the main problem has to do with social media in isolation. I think it’s information overload we’re all suffering from. There’s too much of everything demanding our attention. I mean when I was sixteen there were thousands of books I’d never read and there always will be thousands of books I’ll never read but the thing about the Internet is it’s made me aware of how much I’m not reading. It’s not simply the fifty or a hundred or a thousand books I have to read before I die, it’s the ten or twenty books I have to read <i>this month</i>. And the films I have to see. And the music I have to listen to. And I do do my best but here’s the thing. I just read a book by Jesse Ball and I wrote my review which I’ll post on Goodreads when I get a minute. And I enjoyed the book. I did. And I thought I’d see what else he had but first I double-checked to see if I’d read anything by him before and lo and behold I had and, d’ya know what?, I remember NOTHING about it. And that was only two years ago. That’s because it never got time to settle. I read it, reviewed it and then got on to the next book because I know I’ve so many books I have to read before I die.<br /><br />In the old days you’d write me a letter and I’d say to Carrie, “Look, I’ve got a letter from my friend, Ken. You know the Irish bloke. Ken. You remember Ken,” and I's read her bit of it and we’d talk about it over breakfast and it’d be a thing and I'd take it with me on the bus and maybe read it over lunch and on the bus back and all day I’d be thinking about it until finally I’d sit down at my desk later that day and pick up my pen and slowly—at about thirteen words per minute (as opposed to my typing speed which the last time I checked was about forty words per minute)—compose a reply, stopping to think in between sentences. I miss that. <br /><br />Quantity will never win over Quality. It may trample it into the ground but once it passes all Quality’ll do is pick himself up, dust himself down and go about his business as usual.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-88220443076160540872018-02-18T20:24:45.988+00:002018-02-18T20:24:45.988+00:00Once again our lives seem to be in some kind of co...Once again our lives seem to be in some kind of cosmic parallel. Forbme it mostly revolves Twitter, which seems to be a tumbleweed ridden wasteland as far as interaction is concerned. There's always this place though, which is a kind of correspondence of sorts. Maybe the ol' blogs are making a comeback...Marc Patersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16124869545439738846noreply@blogger.com