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My cats, as I enjoy tools to cartoon them. Making more. Hilarious takes. Deviant art creators, sorry. It’s easy and free. I’ll hand draw next and see what I can do, including a unique merit badge.  And look…no watermarks. I get those removed free too. Now, if embedded in the pixels, meh.  Easier than writing. SM could easily link in house a few tools to temp user upgrades with these images slightly larger than thumbnails, really.  What do I know. I just blurt ideas without thinking. Not because I’m dumb, reckless or don’t care. Just impulsively passionate. Hi, my name is Brian. I write less and goof around more now. Not sure how to click on pics so people can see what’s written about each one. Have two more cats, both new. One sent to the MIL to keep her company. My son found the starving boy George on a road trip, his life shortened, but quality and health now…makes me tear up. Such an obedient boy, it feels like thanks. So happy both enjoy the other’s company. The other rescue, Beans, lives with my son in the basement as the resident female is not having it. Shared house time custody. The boys are good to both girls. Hoping to sort it out. Next idea to write: infiltraitors, my new word! Bye! |
| Posted at Expressi It In Eight "Re: Re: EIGHT - 02. 15 & 16 .25"  — It Wouldn’t Help To Know (Abandonment) Before my friends left me to walk home alone in the dark, you consoled with what now feels piteous. Where were you the New Year’s night I sensed you were not home? I hauled four-year-old Johnny from bed, dressed warm to cross that snow field to Mrs. Bednarz. I shouldn’t have done that? Clearly, publicly embarrassed. No commendation? Seven, already theorizing a universe’s inception, eventual, quick demise, had to be responsible when alone. Abandoned, alone, lost in thought…too many times, I missed the bus, and would look up…feel it again. Ever wondering the cosmos, nature and science, through statistical tunnels and into pity, if I ever…It won’t help to know. I’m clearly stuck on 7. I think ‘evolution’ should substitute somewhere. I had to evolve…others don’t. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
Got an early entry into —
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| I've added a new entry to my book, "SuperNova Afterglow" : "Um…haters??" |
| I’ve had headaches and can’t look at a screen right now, failing to read a recent email with double vision and gave up. Too much screen time catching up. My apologies. |
| There's an app through most US libraries called Libby where you can borrow audiobooks online for free for two weeks. You need a library card. The library clerks can help you set it up if you need help. I use Libby all the time. It's great! |
| Thanks!! Had a response typed…*poof!* My ADHD says NO (for now). All or nothing. Keepin’ it simp. Tryin’ to post dail. Memory troubs. Rebound com. Always do. pulling best reviews in response to Lilli. *sigh* Wife now says I sigh a lot. Unaware, so…I jus…sigh…then, say, ‘sigh’ n tell every1 in earshot, ‘drink’! Thanks, again |
| Tips For Texas As for driving, you’re on your own. But definitely, definitely, no chains on the tires. |
Happy BD to Blank Page  , my sometimes writing partner. Hope to do it again in 2025. Brought joy to Jennifer . And, special recog came from Steph the other night (you do the math)... Nothing gets old, but me. Hope u get this today. |
| It started with a song… "Touchstones in an Ordinary World" …missing that little one that hugged a rough neck. Anyone know the way to ordinary? |
| NLA/a repost and revisit to that fork in the road, two and a half years ago...(new edit) Half Past Moon The Shape of the Mind Does Not Bend Correctly I live in the great green room for years on end when I paint it dark colors in dead of night monsters lurking about my head that do not dine on gray hairs and wrinkles but lick my wounds warmed by reptilian flesh whisker tickles spike shadows against windows, curtains, walls and down the hall where a bunny slept sound many years now and not very small would have crept in my bed between my thin and a silvery woman snoring off her head and I dread morning light will reach before this years long fight will end with me and the choice of colors streaming through my mind in this bed where I shed my sweat No mushy treat smells, nor ticking clocks spell no oval drifters float to ceiling by morning fall Just refractive error in mediocre light In ten by eight, dressers stacked, creaked closet ajar, sits a mussed up mattress trapping a worrisome head I see a glint of orange spy through glass when I begin to relax ghosts drift out and meet a sky pale moon not seen again for hours on end On which to depend my body in the kitchen half past moon Not true. I’m dead. 3.21.22 After they grow up and the only left to care for rejects itself, because no worth compared to a child. |
| Apparently, I had one written with punctuation the following day: Half Past Moon The Shape of the Mind Does Not Bend Correctly I live in the great green room for years on end, when I paint it dark colors in dead of night. Monsters lurk about my head, do not dine on gray hairs and wrinkles, but lick my wounds warmed by their reptilian flesh. Whiskers tickle, spike shadows against windows, curtains, walls and down the hall -- where a bunny sleeps sound, many years now; not very small, no longer creeps in my bed between my big, snoring head and the silvery woman wearily calling, calling, calling. And I dread morning light will reach before this years-long fight will end with me and the choice of colors streaming through my mind in this bed, where I shed my sweat. No mushy, crusty bowls remain, nor ticking clocks that spell time; no oval drifters float to ceiling, by morning fall. Just refractive error in mediocre light. In ten by eight, dressers stack high, creaky closet door ajar, a mussed-up mattress rests, trapping a worrisome dweller. I see a glint of orange spy through glass, when I begin relax, and the ghosts drift out to meet the moon, not seen for hours on end. On which to depend, my body, in the kitchen leaning, into a cup in hand, half past noon? Not true. I’m dead. 3.22.22 It was a long night? Whatever was intended, in response to the famous book Goodnight, Moon. |
| "From the hillside, when I tired of staring at dreams escaping into the horizon, I sensed your presence Back to the footpath, you follow silent along the edge until I wedge within wood to stare up at my ghost Daunting you haunt, hunt souls like me who dare dream..." Should I quit or go on from here? |
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Marking ‘jousting’ off list of things to do.
Good, vintage mediaeval gear is so hard to find these days.