The Perils of Writing in Social
aka AUTHENTIC ME: The Prequel
Follow up to 'The Dark Side of Social Media?' by +Iblis Bane 

Before the blank page, come the two words. 'Am I?'

Close Friend: You should continue to write. I am sure you have plenty of interesting stories left to tell, and it allows you to be not so nice or polite. You are a different person  when you write.
Me: Am I?
Close Friend: I should hope so! 

Anyone who chooses to write, to share thoughts within any type of social arena knows that you must choose a language to share your thoughts. I choose the LANGUAGE of HUMANITY as it provides a mask to Authenticity. The presence of this mask provides a capacity; no - a distillery to deal with the challenges and accompanying frustrations of writing. I need this - as that same frustration is my daily companion, word by word, sentence by sentence.

How is this choice a Mask or Distillery to Authenticity?
Christmas is presented around illuminated pines while a fat man dances in the snowscapes with reindeer. Likewise, Easter is marketed and #branded as happily fornicating bunnies, graciously pausing to offer excrement of chocolate, jelly, and marshmallow eggs. Millions of children are indoctrinated desensitized exposed.

These stories by far as preferred over the one which depicts a man's lifetime endeavors ended by greed and the depravity of lust for power, which is in turn used to bring about the frenzied, murderous rampaging intent of a mob. Who dare think that this type of depicted behavior could in fact be #truthful  or authentic. No -  It must be a mask.

The reality is, as I write you will never be sure if I am masked or unmasked.  Yet, with all the discourse and dialogue of opacity and what is revealed, whether factual or fictional; Ultimately it is meant to be identified with. You as the reader are faced with the questions I ask of myself.

As I stand in the midst of the endless forest, I realize that I am but an acorn scattered before the vast towering trees of data. Yet, in my masks of identity a seed is planted in which you know me as you would liken yourself to a best friend, companion, compatriot, attacker, or seditionist.

I sit once again and stare at this blank sheet before me. And in my peripheral vision sits an old and cherish artifact in the form of a McGuffey Reader from the late 19th century. Of all the things I learned from carefully turning each of it's slowly disintegrating pages in my youth was a lesson that still linger to this day. If I as a reader, do not feel the sting like a blow to the head, then I have wasted my time on your drivel.  And that time will never be returned. Thus, the first object of an intelligent writer is to awaken the attention of the reader.

So I ask those two words;
I am a writer of fiction. Am I? or did you find the subtle, nuance that makes you wonder?

I am a writer of fact. Am I? or are you encumbered by the preconceived stains of your own humanity that lead you to believe differently?
 
I am an annoying provocateur, running the gambit of humanities. Am I? or have you just been reunited with emotions you chose to bury, forget, or be reminded of?

I am being AUTHENTIC. Am I? or is what you take away merely a mask - repackaged and presented for some easily digestible, entertainment purpose?

~ owen

#disseminatingseeds   #essaybyowen   #authenticme