Blackalicious, for some reason, follows me on Twitter

I don’t know why…

But it’s pretty darn cool.

So, to show my appreciation, what do you say we give them some air time.

Bet you thought I was going to play Alphabet Aerobics, didn’t ya…



So, about this Snapchat thing… Yeah, it really is a thing it seems

A while back I wrote a brief post asking if anyone was using Snapchat as part of their marketing platform. I got a few responses… I checked the app out… I didn’t get it at all… And then I forgot about it.

Well, it appears the app is making it harder and harder for us to forget it according to this NYT article.

  • Snapchat is worth $30 B-b-b-billion dollars
  • It’s larger than Twitter
  • Facebook and others are desperately trying to emulate its appeal

So, about this Snapchat thingy…

Anyone have anything new to share about it re: social marketing platform?

Novelist, Poet, and now Playright: A Guest Post by Author Paul Xylinides

It’s hard to say where a poem and its ensuing conversation will lead. It’s even harder to say where it will eventually end. To understand how it is we are about to arrive at the fortunate post-poem, post-conversational point to which we are headed, I will simply refer you to here instead of wasting precious time and space with a reenactment in paraphrase.

With that out of the way, I can now get us to the point to where we wish to be by pleasurably presenting to you the publication of this humble site’s very first play, penned by our good friend and literary phenom Paul Xylinides, author of THE WILD HORSES OF HIROSHIMA.


Tweeting in the Immortal Nineteenth Century
A Play in One Act

by Paul Xylinides

(Dedicated to K. Brindley)

Dramatis Personae
William Wordsworth: Poet
Dorothy Wordsworth: Sister

The Wordsworth Lake District cottage

The Nineteenth Century


Sound effects: Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, Tweet

Dorothy: Get out of bed, Will! You have poems to write and sheep to cuddle!

William: Groan. You are the only sheep/I wish to baa baa/But, listen, “Tweet, tweet/Tweet, tweet,” methinks it tells/Of a golden age to come again.

Dorothy: My Word, ’tis but a bird, dish up some rhyme with your porridge and share a bit with that dusty bird – look it shakes off the night it spent in our roof again. Time to put on a new shingle, Will.

William: Must get ready for Coleridge, sister mine. The Lake air does him much good. Mayhap he leaves his pipe in the city.

Dorothy: He smokes too much of that Chinese poison. I suspect there lies the reason for his not finishing his Kubla Khan.

William: Yes, he came up short somewhere, although it is his story that the mailman ringing on his door disturbed him. Hark! The bird tweets again!

Dorothy: And Byron, ought of him?

William: I fear they shot his pigeon. Perhaps the mail coach will have something.

Dorothy: Whatever it is, don’t light the fire with it, brother mine. We are short of paper, you know.

William: Ay, the back of it will serve for future eyes.

Dorothy: You think then it will be an improvement on our last Golden Age?

William: Without a doubt, sister mine. Give it a century or two.

Dorothy: They will be reading you beyond that, brother mine.

William: Baa!

Sound effects: Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, Tweet

(End of Play)