I was told the other day that although I am a “good” writer, my posts are wearisomely verbose. It was suggested that my long winded rambling ruminations required compression, lest I risk losing my audience.
I was therfore advised to tame my wild thought processes and repress that which comes naturally to me. I believe other words included in the conversation were: sanitize, censor, abbreviate, emasculate and whittle.
In compliance, and as such, I will endeavor in earnest to wrangle my stream of consciousness in order to attain literary profundity in 50 words or less. [Enter pregnant pause here] CRAP! I’ve already written double that! Well heck, at least I gave it a shot. Ramble on …
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PS. Thanks for reading. Do you write what you think, or do you just think too much? Does having a brevity of words suggest self censorship? Let me know.
Suggested Reading:
” as phobic gun loving sheep willing to be brain washed by political rhetoric, big business and organized religion. I would like to believe that lessons have been learned in the wake of the horrific tragedy this past week in Tucson, Arizona. But, you know what? I’m wrong on all counts: 
is a little British boy, in 1966, going to bed listening to a little muffled portable transistor radio tucked under his pillow, enthralled to the sounds of devilish delights in the form of Rock and Roll. The scene took me way back to my youth. I could relate to a point, for somewhere … somewhere way across the pond, I too went to bed with a little transistor radio tucked under my pillow listening to the same rhythmic art of the muses that breathed life into me. However, as 
member…. which of course she never really saw, nor did anyone else for that matter. She, a spokeswoman for the Florida Citrus Commission and yelper of “breakfast without orange juice is like a day without sunshine” nevertheless, spearheaded a smear campaign and decency rally against the 
. Six warrants on obscenity charges were issued for Jim Morrison. Despite a lack of evidence, a jury eventually convicted Morrison of only two misdemeanors of indecent exposure and open profanity. It was a crock; there was never any cock.
Yesterday, I ate like a pig. I mean, really, what’s the point of starting a diet without having a last hurrah? In a similar vein, what’s the point in making New Year’s resolutions without breaking one right from the get go? Given the choice between bacon and eggs versus a banana and tea is a no brainer – and on New Year’s Day of all days. I reckoned that my gastronomically poor choice of breakfast items could be justified in my delighting deliriously in the sheer amusement of knowing I was still just a non-conformist at heart. Principles trump resolutions. By the way, I ate the banana, too.
Loitering Words 