i wonder if emerson would want a duplicate. maybe i could be him. no, i wouldn't want to. i wonder what my duplicate would be like.
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the sun is hot in washington. unusual, i would say, though other pullmanites claim this is definitely the hottest place on earth. i smile when they say things like that, though i am sweating while i smile.
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maybe if i could clone myself i wouldn't clone myself exactly. i'd want to be able to tell the difference, you know. like my clone's hair would be naturally parted on the other side, so if i were to look at him it would be like i was looking in the mirror.
who can be my emerson
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How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
-William Ernest Henley
about me
Just sitting here, wandering around. Peeking out from time to time. Wondering what's on the other side of the hill.
Me and my dog. Me and my running shoes.
I'll drink the drink and eat the food and rub my hands in the dirt. I'll do handstands in the snow. Laughing and dancing with a straight face.
Me and my dog. Me and my running shoes.
I'll drink the drink and eat the food and rub my hands in the dirt. I'll do handstands in the snow. Laughing and dancing with a straight face.
about wording why
Wording Why is a word workstation of sorts, a space to create vivid snapshots, to tinker with sentences and sounds and pacing, to take things I've experienced (big or small, real or imagined) and paint them into something new.
In the beginning, elements of truth outweighed fiction, but that trend has reversed over the years. Although many posts still contain elements of truth, this should not be confused with a journal or personal nonfiction.
Images as words.
In the beginning, elements of truth outweighed fiction, but that trend has reversed over the years. Although many posts still contain elements of truth, this should not be confused with a journal or personal nonfiction.
Images as words.
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search wording why
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
-William Ernest Henley