Just what you asked for...
So You Want More Pictures and Video?
Really? Do you?
Didn’t think so.
Because out here in the digital wasteland, all I hear is radio silence. Not a click. Not a comment. Not even a pity-like from Aunt Gertrude who still forwards chain emails about guardian angels and lottery miracles.
You didn’t request more content. You didn’t beg for my brilliance. You didn’t even subscribe to get these handcrafted word-bombs delivered straight to your inbox.
Just. Radio. Silence.
So how does that make me feel?
Unwanted. Unread. Unknown. (sniff... sniff...) Cue the violins and dim the lights—here come the tears.
But let me level with you.
I know I write more in a single day than most people read in a week. While you’re scrolling through cat memes and conspiracy reels, I’m bleeding ink onto digital parchment, shaping stories out of silence, sculpting meaning from the marrow of memory.
I used to compare myself to a pointer dog.
Stay with me here.
A pointer doesn’t chase. It doesn’t bark. It points. That’s its job. Its purpose. One paw raised. Tail like an arrow. Locked in perfect tension. A statue made of instinct.
I’m like that. I point. But with words.
No, I don’t sniff out pheasants and freeze mid-walk with my left arm out like some deranged ballerina. But I sense ideas. I smell stories. And when they stir in the underbrush of my mind—I point. I write. I release the trigger.
“Loneliness is My Mistress”—you read it? I posted it the other day. The idea came to me in a whisper, late at night. I ignored it. Rolled over. But it wouldn’t let me go. It knocked the following day on the synapses of my pea brain again. Louder this time.
So I opened the door and let the idea swim in my thoughts.
With the creative story “Loneliness as my Mistress,” there can be no alimony. No restraining orders. Just me and the muse in a smoke-filled room, dancing on the bones of old regrets. And although someone out there will think I wrote it about myself (I didn’t… it was a creative idea and I just went with it), they’ll think it’s about me only if they read it and don’t read what I’m writing today.
And so now that you’ve read down to this point… you’re probably wondering:
“Where’s the vacation photos?”
Fine.
Here they are. Scroll down, feed your eyeballs, and pretend this wasn’t a masterpiece disguised as a blog post.
But don’t say I never gave you anything.
