Sometimes I wonder if this place is really worth my time. Sure, E2 is a writer’s place, a place where I can come and vent my spleen, write for the sheer exuberant fun of writing, but that shit gets old after a while.

I recently wrote a missive on intellectual property, and the volume of commentary I received rivaled that of an editorial I once wrote to a design engineer audience on vacuum tube technology. Then as now, large numbers decried and supported my position (although as always, the attackers always seem to have a higher level of energy.)

There are always those that defend the old paradigms and methodologies, just as there are those that herald the radical new as a refutation of the entrenched fossilized concepts of yore. Yet the fact remains that some concepts and mores endure.

An artist should be compensated for their effort. The wishfull fantasies of Patronage, sponsorship, peer recognition and other euphemisms of support still allude to recompense for the effort of creation. Logistics do not appear from a vacuum; money and effort must be repaid in kind, and no sane individual in this world gives their work away freely unless they have no need of the support of others. It is one thing to want a perfect world in which artists are supported simply for the sake of their art; it is an entirely different thing to actually have to make a living.

Yet my attempt to defend my right and the right of others to expect the satisfaction of the marketplace to be expressed in material goods has been greeted with mixed feeling, strange in this forum of artists who hope to eventually afford personal transportation (among other worldly goods.)

But who am I to question other’s personal positions in the war between commerce, reality, emotion, and creativity? I only hope that others find what I create useful to their soul or their endeavors, and compensate me for it. Frankly, anybody who creates anything non-corporeal that doesn't understand the concept behind intellectual property protection has issues far beyond my ability to comprehend. How do people like that generate a living? Do they sell sh*t for other people and scribble missives to the cosmos in hopes of future recognition? Do they twist dials on a f*cking machine for minimum wage and hope that posterity recognizes their creative efforts after they shuffle off the mortal coil? I write here for release and sell my writing elsewhere for what the market will bear, thank you very much.