Misanthropic Raptor

but the funniest part of this is not that they were debating the exile of a man who has been dead for over 500 years.

About two hours later I was permanently banned from r/MadeMeSmile for “self-promotion.”

I accepted that different communities have different rules.But then something even stranger happened.Soon afterward, a moderator from r/pics started going through my account. Not just the new post—many of my older painting posts disappeared as well. One after another. Then I was permanently banned there too.

Maybe it was the same moderator. Maybe it wasn’t. I honestly don’t know.

What surprised me wasn’t even the ban itself. It was realizing how much power individual moderators have over what millions of people are allowed to see. One decision can erase years of posts from a community and instantly cut off your ability to participate, even if those posts had been happily sitting there for months or years.I’m not saying moderators shouldn’t have rules. Communities need moderation.But it does make you wonder where the line is between protecting a community and allowing a single interpretation of the rules to completely reshape what people can share.

The funny part?

I wasn’t advertising anything in those posts. I wasn’t posting prices or asking anyone to buy anything. I was simply sharing my original paintings because I enjoy discussing art with strangers from around the world.

Anyway…

Here’s the painting that apparently caused all the trouble. 🎨

Yesterday, I reblogged this post, which is all about the extremely messed up (and well written, and thought provoking, and important for critical thought) stories that I and a lot of others remember reading in school.

It included links to all of them, so I re-read them, or read them for the first time, in a couple of cases. Yep. Still messed up. And important.

But one thing struck me about There Will Come Soft Rains, by Ray Bradbury. (Link included so you don't have to go to the first post to find it.) I remember reading it in school, of course, but back then I didn't notice something that really hit me when I read it yesterday. Well, I did read it in the late 90s, to be fair.

The third paragraph starts with the line "Today is August 4, 2026,"

This story was written in 1950, and I'm sure back then, 2026 felt like an incredibly distant year. And yet, me, reading this story again in 2026, I can only be grateful that the vision Mr. Bradbury had of this year didn't come to pass. Read the story- again, if necessary- and I won't spoil it for you, but it's bleak. (I wish I had an automatic breakfast maker like that described in the story, though.)

But yeah. August 2026 was 76 years in the future when the story was written, and is now just around the corner, but thankfully next year when kids read it in school, they'll be able to say that it's in the past.

Time passes, and time passes and time passes. And yet, life still exists, humans still get up and go to work and live (thankfully).

And we read important and messed up stories because they tell us something about ourselves.

I'm sure this is one of those stories that will still be assigned in school, but every student who reads it now will know that it can't happen this way, because it didn't.

And I'm so grateful.