Hopefully the button
did it's job and spared you the search for the commenting link.
That's right, it's not there. No comments on that post.
That's right, it's not there. No comments on that post.
•
Why?
Many reasons why bloggers choose a comment free post, week, or even blog.
Perhaps on that post we felt vulnerable, wanting our thoughts out there
but not wanting to dissect them with dialogue
or the post didn't really require a response, just sharing something with you
or we really wanted to write that day without the time to
reply to comments or returning a blog visit
So you see, it's for both of us.
It gives the author the chance to write without any other obligations
and
it gives the visitor the chance to read... without any other obligations.
That's comment freedom.
•
Want to use the button and direct readers to this explanation?
Go ahead.
Triple click in the box, copy, paste into the html area of your post.
Why?
Many reasons why bloggers choose a comment free post, week, or even blog.
Perhaps on that post we felt vulnerable, wanting our thoughts out there
but not wanting to dissect them with dialogue
or the post didn't really require a response, just sharing something with you
or we really wanted to write that day without the time to
reply to comments or returning a blog visit
So you see, it's for both of us.
It gives the author the chance to write without any other obligations
and
it gives the visitor the chance to read... without any other obligations.
That's comment freedom.
•
Want to use the button and direct readers to this explanation?
Go ahead.
Triple click in the box, copy, paste into the html area of your post.
Great idea Mon! (Sorry, realising I'm being a bit ironic by commenting on this, but I agree it must be liberating.)
ReplyDeleteRonnie xo
Oh, and forgot to say- going to post one of your buttons on my blog! I think your blog is pretty awesome, and you seem really nice!
ReplyDeleteCool idea and so beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteCatch a Body
ReplyDeleteby Ilse Bendorf
Salinger, I’m sorry, but “Don’t ever tell
anybody anything” is a string of words
I would like to wrap up in canvas and sink
to the bottom of the Hudson, or extract
by laser from the ribcage of all of us
who ever believed it, who felt afraid
to miss someone, to be the last one
standing. “Tell everyone everything” is
not exactly right, but I do believe that if
your mother looks radiant in violet
you should tell her, or when a juvenile
sparrow thrashes its wings in dustpiles
and reminds you of a lover’s eyelashes,
you should say so. We are islands all of us,
but we are also boats, our secrets flares,
pyrotechnic devices by which we signal
there’s someone in here we’re still alive!
So maybe it’s, “don’t be afraid.” We can
rewrite Icarus, flame-resistant feathers,
wax that won’t melt, I mean it, I’ll draw up
a prototype right now, that burning ball
of orange won’t stop us, it’ll be everything
we dream the morning after, even if we fall
into the sea—we are boats, remember?
We are pirates. We move in nautical miles.
Each other’s anchors, each other’s buoys,
the rocket’s red, already the world entire.
*