Can I help myself?
Do I think about consequences?
Do I care?
Has it ever stopped me?
Would I do it again?
Do I have anything to lose?
Not much, and Heck Yes!
Could I stand to lose it?
Not over something trivial, but if you are not willing to push your whole pile of chips up to the line and go for it, you are not a man.
Conversely, if you hurt someone you like for a few dollars, or because you are tickling yourself (and for WHOM do we do this blogging thing? Aye, there's the rub) you are even less of a man.
We are all defining this medium...this 'art form' And it is defining us. Never ever ever ever has something like this existed.
Oh sure, you might say, the town square and suchlike, but disputes there could be settled with pistols and swords and fists. Here, a woman can beat on a man, a child can beat on a woman, and may the sharper wit win, and the stands are full of silent watchers, of which only a very few venture into the limelight to comment on the show.
We are minstrels, but not mimes. Actors, playwrights, ink-stained wretches, without the ink, ballerinas, matadors, Crusaders, and poets. Diarists, ploddists. Picture hangers and librarians. We have made a playground of unprecedented size, in all of history. The Colliseum of Rome fades into insignificance at the sight of all of you people, networked and communicating.
Some of you have been at 'blogmeets'. Just multiply everyone in the room by 6,000, and you will get an idea of the tiny crowd I draw each week, multiplied by however many there are of you in the room. Just imagine the reach of the thousands of others who get even more visitors.
And yet, you can break one heart. Hurt one person, and it all becomes as ash, to you.
I think some people forget this, myself, included.