Writing is my passion

Our peace is our currency

In the most articulate way I can speak - a problem needs to be addressed. For the sake of sanity, I speak of it. A place that I need, not want, has been invaded, that personal space writers use as a scratch pad. Substack has become that place that was once a get-a-way of thoughts, ideas and passion, now turned into a sport. It never seems to fail me that something I hold dear is always turned into a money maker.
The big wigs gotta get rich on things that keep my peace. And so I guess now since they opened things to the mainstream market, one funnel (a water pipe) is fed to all. So the little guy isn’t seen any longer. Grassroots communities and the like, flooded by the waters pouring over them from the large looming dam above. “Help, help they say as the water takes away their voices, we can’t swim well”. “Our homes, and villages are washed out because the dam overflowed, and now we have nowhere to go.” Does this seem like something you’ve heard before online? Those 1s and 0s, pushed about by the big corp fat-cats who like to make a lot of spending cash... The musician who needs a place to leisurely speak about their latest work, the girl who wants to write about her cats. The shopkeeper who is talking about her flowers and the poets who are now drawn out and put on display in a window they really don’t want to be in. Our peace is our currency and they found way into it, and I don’t like it. This has gone far enough, where does it end? Next our minds? Yes our minds, and they will find a into that as well.
There is a table where men scheme for control and the devil himself tells them, get into the things people enjoy the most and pounce on them. Enough said, I’m on wordpress again.
Thank you for reading.