Quote:
Originally Posted by Taylor514ce
Even though most of my words are so arranged as to be nearly meaningless, some are NOT, and I'm very sensitive to how they are used by others. I don't even like Google Adwords, which uses my words to drive advertising, but I tolerate it because I understand the economics of forums. But I refuse to participate in any way on forums that use IntelliSense, which converts words within the actual post into ads... that crosses a line with me.
There are venues and publications that I would absolutely oppose having any of my poems appear within, 14, 20, 50, or 200 years after I wrote the poem. Doesn't matter, I want my copyright to mean something.
|
i can understand not wanting to see your work adulterated in ways that offend you (and i completely agree with you regarding IntelliSense, although i didn't know the name, i hate that system and i will make efforts not even to *read* sites which use it, much less post to them).
however, honestly, do you really think it's reasonable to expect complete eternal control ? forever, even after you're dead ? to say nothing of the material impossibility of guaranteeing that (Emily Dickinson, anyone ?), if that is what you want, then the best option is to burn everything you write, immediately after you write it, and never show it to anyone.
but how sad that would be, to deprive us of your beautiful and / or silly poems. if you had, we probably would never have seen marc's cinquains, or patricia's haiku. squirrelku and haitech would never have been mozzled. don't you think it's infintiely more rewarding, on the contrary, to know that you are enriching an entire culture by publishing your work (because you really have no way of knowing how far it could go), allowing your words to percolate through consciousnesses, inspire other words, sometimes maybe too similar for your own comfort, sometimes so radically different as to be unrecognizeable to yourself ? it's true, you can't control them indefinitely, but they're a little like children, in that way ; you try to raise them right, and hope they grow up to be fine upstanding partisans of absurdity, but every once in a while one of them turns out to be a CPA and drive a hummer or something. that's just life.