I've been playing around with nouns and verbs for a while now. I've written on Capital Hill, for a small paper owned by the Chicago Sun Times and a few places in between. I can wax poetic all day about how great of a writer I am, but that's boring. All you need to know is that awesome-sauce. Don't believe me? Just read.
Since news broke of the Boston Marathon Explosion that injured 170 and killed three, Instagram, Facebook and Twitter have become a hodgepodge of “thoughts and prayers for Boston,” but also gruesome photos of those injured participants.
Blood soaked concrete streets, burned flesh and the visual agony of those who have lost limbs began to merit likes, retweets and shares. And while all this was happening, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but ask myself why? For what?
Has our desire to be the first of all our friends to post something no one else has seen, grown so great– or deplorably low– we’re willing to facilitate in the voyeurism of someone else’s pain?