Waiting. But for what? A thought. Life to go by. I don't like that thought too much. Writing. This is like a Big Mac. I just write what I think/feel and post it up. I do a once or twice over, but nothing is really edited like it would be in a publication. Or who knows these days. I question a lot of what I see--let's just put it that way. Cryptic words? Maybe. Perhaps more for my benefit. They can be deciphered and maybe even used for how someone wants to use what works for them. So perhaps they can sleep better at night? So they can say they understand the world and know what is what and what should be. Opportunistic? Darn it! I forgot the word. And I'm trying not to curse if I don't have to. Ugh. I hate when I can't think of a word. Oh well. It will come to me.


This might just be a post of continuous though. One of those. Because I have a ton of stuff I wrote before, I've written, eh, whatever. And it's just sitting in an electric folder, getting virtual oxygen/water damage. Hmm, what happens to old virtual folders? Do they decay? Can they? Maybe they'd have to be programed. But what is the benefit of someone doing that? Unless it's just a geeky thing to do. Like AI. But that's on a whole different scale. Will I post those? Maybe. I hate looking back at old thoughts, though. They’ve rotted a bit. Molded over. Some have a longer shelf-life. Maybe some can be repurposed. I’ll see.


And the thoughts flow. And I inch closer to a white jacket. Hmmm. Maybe not. But Interesting to see where the thoughts flow.


I didn't record anything this past weekend. Hadn't? I probably should have. Even if it wasn't anything much. Just something I could have edited the heck out of and used as a show. It's been such a long time. I've even toyed with the idea of recording little snippets and asking Gary to look at them and record responses to those clips so it looked like we were talking. I could probably do something with that. But where's the time? I mean. I don't have it, but if I had the energy, the enthusiasm, I might have been able to pull something together. I used to do it. Like three shows a week at times. This virus and other things just drained me of creative energy. It's there, but it was a bashful thing to begin with. Now it's gone and ran down the caves and into the inner workings to hide and no one can get to it. Eventually it will come out. I know it will. It's me. I'm it. Therefore, I know this. The question is when?


And Twitter and social media. Don’t let me get started on that. Well, this was a cobbled in thought. But I had wanted to get it out. It hurts to hold it, you know. I believe it really ruined something.


Maybe I'll call this post the Pensieve. I've got to think of something. I think. And I think.




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