What clusterfuckery 

on a personal global scope, nope not listerine, fuck listerine. And commas.

As a writer, I ask, what is my responsibility, really? How to respond to an age seeped in a mire of confusion? And hey I’m confused too.  An age old question it seems. Art, prose, poesy, and death. hmmm

And I already have a responsibility statement I adhere to: I am responsible, when anyone, anywhere, reaches out for help, I want my hand to always be available, and for that, I am responsible.


Still, grief.

And I gotta keep moving, cain’t fold my cards now, not after everything, small potatoes.

Still, grief.

And a worry doom impending.



Ahhhhhh need some levity here, or something.

And the planet keeps spinnin ladies and gents

on the right one?


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