Ignore this Title

I don’t understand why remixing isn’t allowed.

I agree, artists need their rights protected because it’s the only way they make money, but it’s not fair to limit others from using their work.  If you buy it, aren’t you entitled to do whatever you want with it?  If more people are allowed to use it, it creates more publicity for that band and record.

If you remix, it is your original idea.  You decided to mix one song with another.  If you mix songs, it should be personal but not for profit.  It should be shared but not sold.  That was you can create a new sound that you enjoy and share it with your friends.

This is a way to share your creativity.  You can make something new.  I don’t see why it is such a big deal.

They constantly follow you

And never lead your side

They are always there

To mirror you, to watch you

To mimic every action.

Sometimes they aren't with you

They are wandering somewhere else

Only to return when the light returns as well

To go back to being

A fragment of a person.

They are stuck to you

Every step you take

They are on your heels

Walking behind you

As a dark, vague shape

They are just blurry shapes

A fragment of a person.

Sometimes shadows find someone new

And cling to them

Instead of clinging to you

And you are left alone

Without someone to be there for you

Or stay by your side

You wish you can get it back

But your shadow is always there as

A fragment of a person.

It was autumn. Gold and crimson leaves quivered on the limbs of branches. Above them dark clouds rumbled; in the distance a flash of lightning zapped the ground and vanished. People in the park eyed the ominous looking clouds and hurried down the street toward their cars. One person remained.

He was small, about four or five years old. He was dressed in a luminous yellow rain coat and waddled around in small black boots. A drop of rain fell down on his head, but he sat on one of the numerous benches, swinging his feet back and forth. Soon other drops peppered the ground, but he waited.

The rusty iron gate at the entrance clanged shut. Apparently they thought everyone had left. The little boy ran up to the fence and stared out. His hair was now wet and matted, and raindrops clung to his jacket before rolling off.  He kicked the gate hard, only to jump around with a stubbed toe before slipping and falling on the ground.

Tires squealed and he could hear someone banging on the gate.  He stumbled towards it blindly and felt someone grab his little hand.  He was crying, but you couldn’t tell in the rain.  He  couldn’t see anything, but he heard someone desperately attacking the lock on the gate.   It opened, and his mother picked him up in her arms.

“Charlie, I thought you were coming,” she said.  “You were right behind me; where did you go?”  He responded, “I couldn’t see where you went.”

It was raining, but he didn’t open his umbrella.  He couldn’t tell where it was, or where anything else was.  He was blind.