One Happy Afro
Whenever writing on this journal, I adopt a "devil may care" attitude. Aloof and as cool as cool can be, I've lampooned several individuals, for various reasons. Some of them, I've attacked because I don't respect them. Some, because of poor artistic choices. Some even because of writing books that are too long or opinionated in fields that shouldn't be chock-full of proselytizing archetypes. And there are some, even, that I've mocked in frustration and jealousy and boredom.
More specifically...
Some time ago, I posted about a specific creation of someone's. I had printed it off of the internet, from a forum I have long since forgotten, and kept it. I kept it in my first Dungeons and Dragons box set, having lost the original contents of said box. It rested in there, as I moved across a town twice, a state twice, and the country once. Needless to say, I kept it safe, and over some distance. And I read the sheaf of five papers many times over the years, thinking that it was an interesting thought.
But then I negatively posted about the prose of the piece, rather than its novelty and memorableness. I even went so far as to call into question the author's personal relationships.
I made, in essence, a "Yo momma" joke at the child I perceived wrote the work in question.
Somehow, the author of the monster that I so giddily maligned read what I said. Furthermore, he posted a response to what I said. He joked back at what I said, not in a vindictive manner (a manner that I myself may have adopted, had he mocked Chronodia), but was instead nice.
Even affable.
And I felt bad. Silly, even. I wrote the critique, thinking I was funny. In retrospect, it was indeed amusing, but only as one might find bathroom humor funny in the middle of a meeting. Or a funeral.
I'm not sure if it was the author of the creature that replied to my wicked post. I'm not sure if he will ever see my reply to his comment, or if he'll see this post.
But I feel bad about that post. And a few of my other posts. Quite a few, actually. The post about his creature creation was a one page invective, aimed at nothing but smearing his work.
There's a line of Andrew Kenny's song, "Hometown Fantasy", that has the lyric, "I'm not as sharp as you are serrated." That line has stuck with me for the past three years. I've never thought it applied to me.
But it seems that my cyberself, at least, is both dull and serrated.
More specifically...
Some time ago, I posted about a specific creation of someone's. I had printed it off of the internet, from a forum I have long since forgotten, and kept it. I kept it in my first Dungeons and Dragons box set, having lost the original contents of said box. It rested in there, as I moved across a town twice, a state twice, and the country once. Needless to say, I kept it safe, and over some distance. And I read the sheaf of five papers many times over the years, thinking that it was an interesting thought.
But then I negatively posted about the prose of the piece, rather than its novelty and memorableness. I even went so far as to call into question the author's personal relationships.
I made, in essence, a "Yo momma" joke at the child I perceived wrote the work in question.
Somehow, the author of the monster that I so giddily maligned read what I said. Furthermore, he posted a response to what I said. He joked back at what I said, not in a vindictive manner (a manner that I myself may have adopted, had he mocked Chronodia), but was instead nice.
Even affable.
And I felt bad. Silly, even. I wrote the critique, thinking I was funny. In retrospect, it was indeed amusing, but only as one might find bathroom humor funny in the middle of a meeting. Or a funeral.
I'm not sure if it was the author of the creature that replied to my wicked post. I'm not sure if he will ever see my reply to his comment, or if he'll see this post.
But I feel bad about that post. And a few of my other posts. Quite a few, actually. The post about his creature creation was a one page invective, aimed at nothing but smearing his work.
There's a line of Andrew Kenny's song, "Hometown Fantasy", that has the lyric, "I'm not as sharp as you are serrated." That line has stuck with me for the past three years. I've never thought it applied to me.
But it seems that my cyberself, at least, is both dull and serrated.