SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Is This Poker Flat?

Perhaps, with the advent of the internet, social media and websites like this, we could all call ourselves recluses for idling here rather than go public with our offerings (for one reason or another):

https://blog.bookstellyouwhy.com/emily-dickinson-and-three-types-of-reclusive-wr...

I know I have plenty of chances to put myself out there (not in here). As been oft iterated, writers like myself don't have a true measuring stick with words spilled within these virtual walls. Perhaps, it's self-aggrandizing to know we can get likes and pretty little virtual ribbons for our efforts to construct conceptions from a tome of English to never truly come under scrutiny by those eyes hungry for fiction or paltry poetic endeavors.

So, I stay cooped up (literally and figuratively) -- retreat from a glaring social stage, because I'm screwed up in little ways that have not deterred my ability to rub elbows with the human race. I just feel a bit too human on soccasions and doubt my ability, my voice on stages constructed to hold potential efforts like mine.

I could work on a short story or novel that was concepted on vacation. Or, could cool it and just put focus on things social like pick up games and the YMCA. My physical health comforts my mental health at these interstices that insist step back from purging anymore thought from this logjam of weighty thought. Just letting stuff work itself out. But, thinking to, how like E.D. or Salinger I could be, for various reasons.



The Beatles were good, but the whitest band of all time.

"Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" 

8.4.21

I'm developing a new approach to my involvement at WDC that will be more rewarding to refuel what inspires me in the future. It begins with some undeniable honesty in a very constructed manner.