So one has to find the “best” way, one’s personal way around it until someone else does find the truly best way.
Of course, others claim to have found the best way…if you understand coding and computer science, which I do not. So, screw them. I know how to type and I am rapidly losing that function as well.
Therefore, as an aid for the two people and three canaries who might ever want to go back and read anything I’ve written, I’m arranging my work on MEDIUM in a way that makes it a slightly easier way to find…
Recently I tried to get a few followers following a few people. I’d had the general thought but didn’t do anything about it until I’d read an article by Justiss Goode suggesting that we older hands start a sort of sewing circle or chain letter approach.
I figured I’d give it a shot.
Even she didn’t pay attention.
One of the four people I recommended never even said hello. Half the snooty people I’d asked to respond and help out along the “chain.” People who used to be GUNG-HO, “Oh Medium is ALL ABOUT COMMUNITY, YEAH!!!” …
[NOTE: Ideations of suicide. Adapted, as all; everything changes.]
Accomplishments as an idiot boy — diminished by fear, mendacity and weaknesses — one day, faults we can shift past speaking of — alone in that coldwater flat surrounded by roaches, staring at Lisa’s wall paintings — Lisa, who there — had been in the same place and taken her own life — the X-Acto knife held close to my wrist — vacant any belief in mysticism that makes two people do the same in the same place at different times.
Understanding those paintings that moment — not decorations lighting up…
We have among us a talented and excitable new member who writes, mostly about film, Siarra Brielle Bazler.
While keeping up with her work, catching up with her incredibly deep backlog for such a newbie, I’ve been awaiting her promised analysis of Pixar’s Up. It was a melancholic doozy.
Like the film itself, her piece made me think all over again about life. I didn’t know at nine years old why I wanted “out.” I just did. I wasn’t the bravest or smartest or most athletic. But I learned early to chase after what I wanted and let nothing get in my way. Not failure, not heartbreak, not loss.
It’s good to have support. It’s probably better to get messages from the world that you aren’t alone and that others, strangers, know exactly the way you feel and share those feelings. And that you, too, can succeed in your dreams.
I have a new book coming out! Wanna taste? It’s salty! And it sucks! It doesn’t matter, though. It’s all about the cover… Pretty, no? I didn’t do it!!!
Now, if you want any of the REALLY funny parts — for free — you’re going to have to clap, A LOT, for this basically, nearly, almost serious part. And I’m not joking. So there.
Emily would want it that way…
And if you get THAT PART…well, you’re on your toes, tootsie!!!
In some past world, or if I am lucky, some future, given the opportunity, perhaps I might be…
Hopefully not about reading this, which may be the touchiest subject I’ve ever written about, at least on this platform. Certainly, like any other subject, no one needs to write about it. I’m doing it anyway…as a public service. Not necessarily for anyone here; for anyone someone reading might know.
Everyone has to deal with grief at some point and everyone does so in their own way. I’ve had to deal with it at various points in my life and, like some, I’ve had to deal with probably one of the worst sorts. I say that not to draw attention…
Our little Tennessee town’s mayor, a Republican in the manner of Howard Baker, Fred Thompson and Bill Frist, who stayed with the party more out of loyalty, habit and a feeling of no better place to go, has decided to retire after four seasons in the majors.
He was doing well until he met with an apolitical opponent, a virus, against which he could not succeed, especially since most of his base — 80 percent of the constituency — was rooting for the virus to win.
Against all odds he continued to work to have people wear masks and get…
I’m new here, thanks to Mr. Runtsch, so some introduction is in order.
We live in a swampy, intermountain area just west of Nashville, in a farm town, and in a house that is more-or-less a fire-trap (must get that lint filter clean someday…).
Our neighbors, Bless Their Hearts (which is what you say around here regardless of what you mean by it) seem to think, however, that it is Rodeo Drive and, as a result — the only positive result — they drive all the wildlife onto our property, whatever manages to survive their lawnmowing, herbicide and pesticide death…