temps dropping near freezing and a chancing of snow tonight. not looking forward to chancings of snow. no no no.
met melissa yesterday who used to be jason but not anymore. used to be jason but not anymore. met her but not really because she didn't even introduce herself. melissa tall as a six foot one tree. used to be jason.
can't finding a store that sells snow chains for motorcycles. wondering why when there gets a lot of snow here. maybe i should search for studs because good golly miss molly knows that i don't want to ride on ice with no grip. grip grip grip. all i need is a little more grip in my life.
no worries.
could it be that it's the season of the shark?
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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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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
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