Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Suffering is Optional

It is balls-hot where I live.

Today the walk was in 110°F blasting heat. I’m thankful that it is only about 10 minutes from the bus stop to my home. I’m thankful that it is pretty much a straight shot from my work where I pick up the bus in the afternoon to where I get off to walk home.

The reason I walk home in the afternoon is that my car will not turn over. The reason that I did not take the car to the mechanic is that I had a $2300 plumbing bill to replace a clogged p-trap that is in connection to the waste water line that goes out to the street. I also had a $2900 hospital stay for pneumonia in March. Most recently, I’ve got a $750 bill to take my cat to the vet to have two teeth extracted. In January, I had to make an unexpected trip to Albuquerque that cost about $1200.

This appears to be the Year of Price.

It also appears to be the Year of Humility.

Possibly the Year of Endurance.

Whatever the case, I am grateful that I have the ability to take the 10 minute walk so I can keep paying off the bills at an accelerated rate. There are other benefits to my walking home from the bus stop. It’s about a half-mile course and it helps me keep moving.

At current, I’m a bit wiped when I get home because I’m grossly overweight and out of shape. Even in the cursed earth, there is a gleam of hope if I look. It takes a certain perspective, I admit.

I know that there are folks out there that have it worse than I do. My minor complaints pale in comparison. My objective right now is to be grateful for what I can do rather than piling up the reasons I’m suffering.

As it is said, pain will come but suffering is optional.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

The Obstacles and the Path

It has been over two months since I’ve written anything substantial. I could list of the multitudinous mass of reasons why I didn’t. It wouldn’t matter. What does matter is that the itch to vent and create has been driving me mad whilst I was on hiatus.

I’ve been doing micropoetry and other short prompts on Twitter, but that only served to pass the time. I don’t want what I’ve been working for all of my life to be something that passed the time. It is not what I want for myself.

It is not how I want to be remembered. I don’t want to be the man who passed his time well. It will simply not do.

I’ve been on the cusp of manifestation for too long. I’ve been touching the envelope, being afraid to push through it. It is the same as dipping into a pool of cool water. It is shocking if one steps in slowly. The cold creeping up.

I need to build the wherewithal to jump.

This is where I practice. This is where I build the courage to dive into the chill of the water. This is where I recognize that there exists in me a talent that I have long known about but was afraid to truly embrace. This is where I try to move the bricks in the wall I’ve put up over the decades and see what was put away so long ago.

Visualizations, strings of words, thoughts both logical and transcendental, and most of all feelings have been put into this vault for far too long.

Here is where I will try to remember how to be human again.

Sunday, April 02, 2017

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Rapture

Original photography by clair0bscur
Here in the silent times, I remember the thoughts and words we share. I remember the lessons. I remember the hunts. I remember the soaring flights that we took. Johannes was not the only one who was taken into the fold of a wing. He was not the only one to experience the connection.

I too, was chosen.

Yes, mother, you were.

For us, it is not one over the other. It is us together. We are of one mind sharing the disparate bodies. We gain the experiences of one another for a grand collective to be shared further on down to the new generation. It is not just for you or I. It is for us all.

I too, am sharing.

Yes, mother, you are.

What we have is beyond intimacy. Our symbiosis has given each of us so much. Our decedents may one day understand what passes between us. It is beyond love. It is beyond care. It is beyond what could ever be explained in the mundane world. Our destinies are intertwined and will always be so.

I too, will be with you.

Yes, mother, you will.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Roots

Here I am.

Gathering strength to shoot roots down. Through the rocky ground. Through to the fertile soil underneath. Through to the source of energy and nutrients.

It is the ball of tendrils that slowly shift through it all that it begins. It is the model of regeneration. It is the metamorphosis of growth. It is the beginning of change. It is the personification of intent.

The movement is slow, yet deliberate. It could appear that there is no movement at all. It could appear that there is only stasis. That is not the case.

In the seat of it all, there is faith. Without it, there is no growth, there is no movement.

Movement is movement, no matter how small.

It is the nature of roots.

Monday, March 20, 2017

600 Minutes

I just got out of a hospital stay. It was the first time I was admitted as a patient into a facility like that. It was a test of patience. It was a test of family. It was a test of faith.

Nearly a month ago, I had a cough. Rather simplistic and plain. I thought it would run the course and I would be buffeted but none the worse for wear.

This was not the path I was supposed to take, apparently.

Congestion, cough, chills, fever, and night sweats all came and went. Hacking mucus, constant nose blowing, and heavy sighs were companions. Sleep deprivation, annoyance, shortness of breath, and worry also came.

After several OTC solutions and an Urgent Care visit, my wife insisted upon my visiting the Emergency Room to see what was going on.

It took 10 hours from my walking into the ER until I was admitted into a room. The struggle was in the form of a seemingly endless cycle of being called upon to enter the magical double doors to answer questions, raise hopes, only to be sent back to our seats in the waiting area. It was my own personal Bardo.

Finally, I was selected to be examined. Again I was called up to the wooden gateway and allowed to pass through. The attendant was in azure. Darker hallways fanned out before me. Muted lights, grey walls, and painted floors revealed a different caliber of hospitalers buzzing about like moths gathered into cones of light.

Ushered into a small room, I was asked to repeat my story again with an almost jovial, “Well, what brings you here today?” I recited in detail what had happened. I had failed two rounds of antibiotics, spent time and money fighting whatever was inside of me, and finally came to a place of healing to get more expert advice and care.

Fast-Forward through a breathing treatment, a series of intravenous fluids, antibiotics, and a significant wait, and the attending physician agreed to admit me into hospital care. I was wheeled off into another holding unit until they got a bed ready for me.

Admission questions came next, medication lists were verified, and yet another retelling of my story to yet another physician started my stint in this purgatory. The long room used to be for Physical Therapy. Remnants and equipment were scattered throughout the space. It felt of remembered pain.

My bed was ready before my admission questions were completed. Still, I waited for ‘transport’ to my bed. I waited through the rest of my Antibiotic IV to be finished. I waited through being disconnected from the pump and having my vitals taken for what seemed like the hundredth time for the night. I waited until I had to get up to go to the restroom and come back to my gurney.

Depleted, I sat at the end of the gurney and attempted not to be irritated. I was tired and hungry. I was fatigued and had a headache. The wall was coming up fast. The attending nurse took pity upon me.

In an act of defiance to the order of things, she moved me herself. Somehow, ancient stars were becoming into alignment and freeing me from this prison of clinical lighting and sterile scents.

Finally, in a bed, I relaxed. It was a mistake, but the respite from feeling like I was on display was wiped away. Other invasive atrocities took place, but those are perhaps fodder for another story.

Today, I am back to work as an #officehero. There are things to be done.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Leap of Faith


Blue Moon

Art from LahmatTea. Used without permission.
In the darkened and foggy streets of the city, you can find just about anything. There are deals born of need and want, of greed and satiation, of desperation and hope. There are trades done in brick-lined alleyways and underneath coal smoke. There are commodities traded by men and women that have never seen the light. Prayers are whispered by these denizens in the gritty underbelly of a decaying facade.

The Crown, more concerned about keeping what little is slipping through their fingers, props up straw men in power while formulating plans for the colonies abroad. Jack-booted Guardsman keep the streets with newly minted machine pistols.

Grizzly cigar-smoking toughs do not only work for the gentlemen adventurers and lady dilettantes, but also for those shadowmongers who manipulate the destinies of many unfortunates. Dragon-chasers seek underground dens of moldy racks in order to find dreams or escape. Hatchetmen flex their muscles under silk suits and top hats making sure that the opium keeps flowing.

Technological savants working deep into the night form wondrous marvels of steam and steel and brass. Their laboratories and shops range from the exactingly precise to the violently disheveled. Still, the minds of these engineers are in tune with a force of unsurpassed skill and motivation.

Mystics and self-styled magicians meet in secret chambers to discuss the future of mankind. Cabals formed for both good and evil use their powers to roam the unknown realms beyond the veil to exact their presence upon the things that man was not meant to know.

Throughout it all, one brave soul decides to to make her way into the sooty nights and gas lit streets. It is more than a dalliance in order to keep a brilliant mind at work or a restless soul occupied. She cannot walk away. It is her calling.

In her own way, she is shaping the future of the Empire. Her ways are not the only ways, but they are effective. Her own light tainted by the darkness around her, she fights the the denizens of shadow in the only way she knows how — with lethal intent.

Tuesday, March 07, 2017

A Siren's Call

 Art burgled from @NicoleX (NicoMysterriou) 
 Art burgled from @NicoleX (NicoMysterriou)

I could tell you what you want to know, but that isn’t what you want.

You want to keep me like this, in a bottle, let out every so often so you can see me naked, so you can rub grubby fingers on me. All you want to do is pinch my nipples and slap my ass. You want to slide yourself into my lips and keep my hands bound.

I could tell you what you will become, but that isn’t what you want.

You believe the hype that you spread thick like butter on bread. It is so obvious that you think your strength comes from ownership. A macabre sense of entitlement comes from my silence. You mistake it for weakness. This is your mistake. You are a means to an end.

I could tell you what is going on, but that isn’t what you want.

You think that flesh is the end all be all of existence. You think that there is no magic in the mind. You don’t know that I have worn the phylactery and taken your power long ago. You don’t realize, dear man, that you are the mere puppet performing my bidding.

I could tell you what I am, but that isn’t what you want.

You think there is no pattern to be unlocked. You think that the blood surged and muscle strained work I put you through is somehow love. Love is longer. Love is dedicated. You, in your fleshform are temporary and are no match for the divinity within me.

I could tell you what your weakness is, but that isn’t what you want.

You gaze upon my naked flesh and dream of my nipples and lips. You focus on my breasts and hips. You never realize that my eyes are hidden. You don’t deserve them. You are mere grist for the mill powering all of my spangle.

I could tell you all of these things and more, but that isn’t what you want.

You close off your mind and let your thickness move towards me, within me, through me. It is here within the rituals that I have set in motion that you lose yourself. It is my power that is being fueled by your disposition. It is your weakness I have targeted.

I could tell you of your sacrifice, but that isn’t what you want.

You cannot see the illusion. You cannot see how I have set the machinations in place. You cannot understand the power of sex and what it holds. You cannot understand how a fish can be made to climb.

Saturday, March 04, 2017

The Tea is Steeping

My mother has recently died.

I thought that our strained relationship was already over years before the final act. I thought that my travels into becoming a more enlightened being had prepared me for the void that I had surmised already appeared between us. I thought that I was going to be fine in my body, actions, and mind.

What I was not prepared for was how my focus changed to the immutable void that was left. She and I had already stopped talking. I had written her off years before when she decided that I was too much of a hard-ass when she was living with my wife and I.

My mother liked to play stupid. I suppose it was easier for her. She was a product of her generation where women were supposed to be pigeon-holed into specific roles. It was a rougher time for her sex.

Her playing the stupid woman was self-defense. It was frustrating because she didn’t own up to her faults. She didn’t want to improve upon the issue at hand, whatever it was. She didn’t see the problem, from my point of view, anyway.

What my mother’s death has done for me is give me time to account for my own life. It has led me to questions of ego that I thought were somewhat irrelevant beforehand.

For the last month or so I have withdrawn into myself and into my ego. The strong pull was easy to follow. I folded myself down into the smallest version of myself. I was still going through my life. I wasn’t emotionally detached. I was still able to laugh and smile. I still found humor. I was just on some sort of factory default.

I saw my brothers and sister at my mother’s service. I saw the families. I saw the nephews and nieces. I saw how they grew together. I felt like I was an outsider. I was welcome, but an outsider nonetheless.

This feeling came home with me. Perhaps it has always been with me.

I have a wife of nearly 20 years. She gave birth to two sons. They are still mine despite the lack of my genes coursing through their veins. I have cried over them, spilled blood over them, and have drank into oblivion over them. They are every bit mine as they are the donor’s.

My ego keeps asking, “What legacy have I built for them?”

I see what my sister and brothers have built. I see the skills that they have and the strength they have from their extended family. I have myself. I give myself. I feel that it is not enough.

My writing is circumspect. My stories and poetry seem cliche. My talent in other arenas such as mechanics and carpentry are also stunted. I am not in to firearms or cars. I am a white collar worker who has not saved enough to provide a significant monetary nest egg for anyone.

In short, I see myself as a failure. Failure as a father and a man.

Yes, this is ego speaking. Yes, I see this. Yes, I know that there is more to success than materials that are left in my wake.

But, what else am I producing?

Is it specific?
Is it measurable?
Is it actionable?
Is it realistic?
Is it timely?

Yes, this is the Corporate Citizen trying to analyze a Private Citizen’s actions, goals, and accomplishments. It has become part of the default when I’m like this. Emotion is not being held back, but it is less significant of late. I am still numb from the review of my life and what I was supposed to have done by now.

I know I am not alone in this. I know there are others with far more dire circumstances or shocking tales. There are others who would willingly switch places with me because they feel that my particular brand of circumstances are so much better than their own. I am not ignorant of these facts.

The thing is that I am the one living my life. No one else. My measure of ego is every bit as strong as the next. It is every bit as large as the next. It is every bit as damaging as the next. It is every bit as useful as the next.

I am not on a journey for anyone else. It is for me alone. Well, me and those who decide to walk with me for a while. And while my life may not be so bleak in comparison with another, right now it is a grey wash of pithy emotions and pitiful dreams that have been dashed against the shoals as the waves churn.

Frankly, I am ready to join the ocean, but I recognize that it is not yet my time. I am to be on the shore for some time yet. For reasons beyond my ken. So, with that I seem to be waiting for the tea to steep and entertain my guests. I know that this feeling and time will pass as it will. It cannot be forced out or ignored.

Thank you for taking the time with me. I know it has been difficult.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Contemplation


MANW2017, Week 3

Wednesday, Week 3:

I fell down this week. I let the dark waters get in and drag me into a patch of Sargasso that did not want to let me go. It held me fast for quite some time until I realized that it was all in my mind.

It always has been.

The framework in how I was seeing my attempts was skewed. I was falling into the trap of comparison again. Where I am on my path is not the same place as you. It is not the same place as anyone else.

It is mine, alone.

Somewhere in the darkness, I came upon a brief realization that it does not matter how many fans I have. It does not matter if I gain or lose followers. It does not matter the count. Only the quality.

So, here I am after 18 days with only 10 days of work towards the movement. The point? I have 10 days of work out of 18. While technically failing in the terms of grades, I would still hold that 55% is better than 0%.

My path is mine alone. Others may join me for a time, but it is only because their path aligns with mine temporarily. It is up to me to keep pushing my bar and my envelope. No one is going to do this for me. I am deserved of nothing. I am owed no recognition of my efforts. That is not my goal in this movement.

These may not be your realizations or rallying cries. These are, however, mine.


Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Circa 1970's


Where I present proof-positive that I was once young and held a typical 1970's haircut. As far as I am told, this is the only photo in existence with all five of us together.

The original image was probably taken with a 35mm camera or a Polaroid. I'm honestly not sure which. It has been cut with scissors around the outline of my siblings heads and sofa. Apparently the wall pattern was ugly. I'm not sure as I don't remember sitting for the photo.

As I only have a digital copy of it, I've done my best to make it as close to what I think it should look like.

MANW2017, Week 2

Wednesday, Week 2:

This week, more of a groove seemed to be appearing. I pushed some words on a story that may or may not work out. I believe I’m going to need to sit down and take the time to plot it out. Right now, it’s a difficult push and feels a bit like I’m trying to breathing in jelly.

On Monday, I gathered up some poetry I had written last October. The plan is to push this out with not only the poetry but content based on that poetry. It’s an idea I’ve had for quite some time now. This particular project seems to be coming together a little bit better.

So far, so good.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Year of the Black Water Dragon






In the summer of the Year of the Black Water Dragon, I visited the Middle Kingdom.

I saw the vistas, smelled the air, ate the food, and became one with myself. I learned about ancient monuments and holy sages. I heard about Qin Shǐ Huángdì and the Silk Road. I learned how to walk into tombs with reverence and the magic of jade.

More than all of that, I learned what it was to be a guest in another country. It taught me humility and showed me my own hubris. I saw humble people willing to help a stranger. I saw miraculous technologies and wicked charlatans.

I lived in a back alley hutong in Beijing. I had a glorious hotel in Xi'an. I saw the Bund and the structures in Shànghǎi. I rode the bullet train and climbed the Great Wall at Bādálǐng. I ate street food and saw the night markets.

For a time, I was just one of the many billions of people in the Middle Kingdom. I was encompassed in history and art, in language and culture, in a maelstrom of confusion that led to a blissful existence. I had no worries, other than conversion rates, and learned to truly appreciate what it meant to live in the present.

The trip gave me many story seeds that are still percolating today. It moves me to seek out legends and how the philosophies and teachings could be brought into today's world. It fuels much of what I do.

It has made my gōng fu strong and has made my art stronger.

Saturday, January 07, 2017

Making Time

Yesterday was hellacious.

There was a half day of work that was stacked and packed because two coworkers were out. My wife had oral surgery. We had dinner at a Vietnamese place with family.

All in all, I did not make the time to push words or make a picture.

I still want to participate in the challenge. I still want to bring what I can to the world. I know that I have worthy things to offer. The tough part is the dedication to the time it takes to reinforce the habit.

I’m not going to rake myself over the coals here. There are going to be times where I am not going to be physically, mentally, or emotionally available for the words. I may not have time to bring elements together for a picture. I may have just enough time to do what is needed to do before I collapse into slumber.

I did take some time to decompress though. I ran through some bits on HearthStone. I got my January card back with a timid little hunter. It took me a few hours to figure out that I was not going to succeed with the typical warrior who’s primary function seems to be in the talent of building up armor and smashing things. It wasn’t going to be with the mage either.

My card pool is a bit small to compete with many folks. I took a couple of years off from the game and I’ve got to grind pretty hard to get what I do as I’m not really willing to spend money on the game. There are other things that I’d rather invest in.

My son has been into the game for quite some time and is a minor celebrity along with his partners. Together, they host the 1600 Dust podcast.

They just released their 100th episode in regards to the game.

They push to make consistent art every month.

Thursday, January 05, 2017

Here I Am, Doing

There are days that there seems to be a significant lack of coffee. Or sleep. Or rest. Or Gods-knows-what-else. Still, here we are. I’m feeling nostalgic for a time when I could leave the gravity of my current life on the back burner. But that gets us nowhere rather than now here.

I’ve worked hard to build my life. There are things that I’m not satisfied with, to be sure, but these are projects that are constantly in progress. What I’m talking about it is the creation of words, putting them on the page, the management of my Diabetes, and the seemingly ever-present need to be upwardly mobile.

These are, of course, first-world problems. I do not have to remind myself that so many others would be blissfully happy with everything I’ve built over the years. I do not need to remind myself that I’m astoundingly blessed with good friends (although I wish they weren’t scattered all over the globe) and a loving family (ditto).

Mistakes have been made along the way, but I believe that’s natural. There is no guide when we begin. We have to learn what do to on the way. We have to keep those lessons, but not dwell on them. And here’s what this piece of prose/monologue/soliloquy is all about.

I have a longing in my heart and soul to keep and create words for everyone. I would wish the quote I hear about the world needing less successful men and more artists were even somewhat true to life. I dream that I could work on my projects full time without consequence of negative financial impact.

Again, the dichotomy. Many others would give their eye-teeth to have what little I have been blessed to receive. These are the folks who are working and working and working to have less than the average. These are the ones who are being taken advantage of just to get to that carrot that is dangling just out of reach. It is always out of reach.

I see us all in various stages of that horse and cart scenario. Some of us horses have been locked up and walking the same route, we don’t know any better. Some of us have been elevated to more than a tool. Some of us have even been given a roomy place to sleep and eat. Some of us don’t have to pull the cart anymore.

The reality is that I may never, in my mind, earn a place amongst the various word heroes that are in a different stage than myself. I may never see myself as a ‘successful writer,’ whatever that means.

The fact that I string letters together into sentences and sentences into paragraphs, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, means that I am a successful writer. The fact that I have earned monetary payment for some of these collections of words means that I am a paid successful writer.

Am I happy with it? Not so much.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m absolutely thrilled that my words were used. I’m glad that others were able to enjoy them. What I’m not satisfied with is my lack of making the time, yes it is on me, to create more.

It seems so simple. It seems too simple.

If I want to create more, I need to simply create more. If I want to make more stunning art, I need to art harder. If I want whatever it is that fills my eyes at the moment, I have to figure out a way to get it.

As I said, mistakes are a natural part of learning. Stretching boundaries and finding out what attracts readers is hit and miss. Readers are a fickle lot. Influential readers are doubly so. Writers are even more fickle than the influential readers.

We battle with our words and skills in order to produce. We have a constant nagging voice in the back of our minds asking if we are worthy enough and promoting doubt. Do we hit the publish button or not? Do we use this word or that one? Do we scrap the avant-garde story line with the deep and meaningful allegories to life or push it out even if no one would understand it?

I can only find out by putting the pieces out there. I can only succeed by doing, and failing, and seeing that everyone out there has made the same kind of mistakes. Everyone wears the blinders and pulls the cart. Everyone sees the other one as successful. Everyone has seen a success and thought, “I want that.”

The only solution is to do and keep doing.

So, here I am, doing.

And I need more coffee.

Wednesday, January 04, 2017

Snapshot 01-04-17

For those of you who are interested in this kind of thing:

Mood: It’s early yet, I could easily skip the day and sleep in.
Fasting Blood Glucose: Above 300.
Game Last Played: Hearthstone: Heroes of Warcraft
Currently Reading: Star Wars: Aftermath
Movie/TV Show Last Viewed: Dr. Who: The Return of Doctor Mysterio
Latest Artistic Project: Still working on a WIP for #manw2017 (pic below), several micro-poems/vss on Twitter.


MANW2017, Week 1

Wednesday, Week 1:

So far, so good. At this point, I think it’s more about repetition and building habits rather than the quality of the work.

I feel as if the words are not worthy, but I’m reminded that all first drafts are crap. So many of us feel the same, I’m sure.

For the week, I’m showing a total of 3,281 words. Certainly not my best effort, but they are written. I’m certain as I am more familiar with the characters and plot points, my efforts will be greater.

Feel free to let me know how you’re doing. Touch base and show me how you’re making your art.

Here's the updated calendar:

Sunday, January 01, 2017

Make Art, Not War

Here’s the deal. It is obvious that I have a modicum of talent when it comes to storytelling. I’ve seen it and felt it. The problem is that I have not put enough effort into the craft that I’ve been trying to enhance for the last 40 or so years. Here’s where I put in the hand-to-God effort to push beyond the boundary I’ve been sitting.

I’m tired of playing with that envelope that seems to encompass my energies.

Monica Valentinelli has put forth a challenge that she is going to follow. You can read about it here.

“Born out of both my personal experiences and the knowledge that oppression tends to crush the artistic spirit on a cellular level, I have created a Make Art Not War 2017 Challenge for those who need it. This challenge, which came together from inspiration to draft guidelines, is designed to be flexible to work with your talents and lifestyle. Don’t be afraid to customize the specifics to fit your needs. Your art? Your rules.

Why take the Make Art Not War 2017 Challenge? When times are tough, the feeling that artists are not necessary tends to permeate because art is viewed as a luxury item in some cultures since we don’t produce food, clothing, or housing. The exact opposite is true, because art is a documentation and representation of our humanity and all our struggles. People turn to stories to find hope, to be inspired, to reach inside themselves and discover their own courage. This challenge is about making art to tap into your voice and tell your story. After all, one story can change the world. The problem is, we have no idea which story that will be, when it will be told, or in what medium. It’s up to us to find it–by making art!”


This manifesto touched me. It hit me in the core. It made me want to reach into whatever is inside of me and pluck it out like a still-beating heart about to be sacrificed to an ancient cult idol.


My pledge:
  • I will spend at least 1 hour every day working on my art. Be it a digital picture or words.
  • If I don’t fulfill this task, I will write about it for fifteen minutes or 3 pages (whichever comes first). This will include the reasons why I wanted to do this challenge as well as the reasons I see are blocking me. I will be brutally honest with myself in this listing. My internal editor will be turned off.
  • I am mark down on a calendar whenever I complete the day’s efforts.
  • I will join the community and talk about ‘Make Art Not War 2017’ by using the hashtags #makeartnotwar2017 and #manw2017.
My Accountability:
  • I will use a public calendar to mark my progress.
  • I will also use a physical calendar to track my progress.
  • I will check in on Wednesdays over at booksofm.com and review with the others that are performing this challenge.
My Reality:
  • I am going to need help. I am in need of a few friends to assist in keeping me talking about my efforts. I know myself and I know that it is easy to just work on things and stick them in proverbial drawers to never see the light of day.
So, yeah.

That’s it in a nutshell.

See you on the other side.