i swear
i always intend
to get out more
meet new friends
do new things
but—
peopling terrifies me now
when every word or action
is a litmus test to
determine tribal
affiliation
it seems more sensible
to stay at home
and not subject myself
to the world’s
casual judgment
judgment
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judgment
half-penny thoughts | 18jul25
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash I visit plenty of places on the internet lately for or by writers and I recently encountered this strange theme on one site where all of the writers seemed to all be posting in the theme of “you’re a great writer, keep writing” affirmations for each other. Some were even pretty self-congratulatory (“yes, I like my own posts and I am not ashamed to”). Still others were of the “everyone here is the best writer”.
Now… I’m not against encouragement. I’ve even partaken in it myself. But when it becomes a common, daily and reoccurring theme… I have the strong urge to pinch my nose and walk away from that kind of community. Even if it is well-intended community-building, it still smells like bullshit.
Write, don’t talk about how great everyone else’s writing is (and god-forbid, don’t tell me how great you think your own writing is).
What do you think?
Am I just being a humbug? Or does it feel like a weird kind of phony? Do these folks really mean it? Or are they just saying it, hoping that others will pay it forward until it boomerangs back?
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half-penny thoughts | 18jul25
murder
Photo by Aleksei Zaitcev on Unsplash a murder outside and
a drive-by suicide
laughing, what a joke
waiting for red fox
waiting for red show
chewing on that razor wire
where did you think
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murder
careless memory
Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com i stone eye see
wondering at
the fuss of things made
while even more words
make timberfall from
scythed crescent to
sunset canyon walls
no more false assurances
no more casting out lines
this tightrope is far too thin
but this tightrope is mine
step once a million rivers
passing over and by—
careless memory
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careless memory
Campfire Sessions — 16jul25
Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash You’re learning, says Raven. A bit soft in the head, but at least you’re progressing.
I put another piece of kindling in the flames, keeping the fire. It’s fire season in the forest. While there is no big risk of flames causing mass destruction here, of all places, I try to be mindful of the possibility and restrain the firebug inside. It seems like that critter has vacated anyway, which is just fine by me. My inner firebug got me into as much trouble as fun over the years and I’m tired of manufactured crises.
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Campfire Sessions — 16jul25
Torture update
Photo by Serena Koi on Pexels.com Well, that went much more like I was used to in terms of experience before Annie showed up to make dental visits living hell.
It has been five years since my last regular dental exam and cleaning. In spite of needing some pretty intensive maintenance on my teeth for staining, tartar and plaque, my gums were in much better shape than they had expected on Monday and I don’t need to come in for any additional “special” treatments for my gums. I have one surface cavity, which I suspected and is scheduled for repair, and a bit of a groove on one outward facing tooth that they are going to preemptively fill for cosmetic and protection reasons. Other than that? I’m golden.
My pain appears to have been due to clenching and gum inflammation.
Was it torture this time for my regular checkup?
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Torture update
nightclubbing
Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash dreaming hazy
shadowed clubs and
all smoking cigars...
you look sexy as hell
wearing that smirk
with a stogie in handDon’t ask me who this is supposed to be or where we were clouding up the scene, but this dream lingered with me well after I woke up. Much better than the one about my daughter’s giant pet centipede she talked to in hisses, which is another dream I can’t explain.
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nightclubbing
Torture
Photo by Serena Koi on Pexels.com I probably shouldn’t reveal this in public, but I think I found the torture that might push me over the edge and confess to being an accessory to John Wilkes Booth’s assassination of Lincoln, should anyone want to force me to make that claim. I might even believe I was part of it, if someone were to focus on one tiny part of my body.
No — not the lower unmentionables.
Something much less in the manner of “naughty bits”. It would be: My teeth.
Yes. My teeth.
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Torture
forest of spirits
Forest of Spirits card from the “Oracle of the Morrigan” card deck even dead things have their wild—
campfires hold no sway over their
bone whispers shrouded in mists
should you shadowwalk with me
we will slender through feral spaces
to find our the names and faces
we wore before we were born,
or we may lose our myriad selves
in the fogDisclosure: My use of those tools most often associated with divination are largely as randomized writing prompts, often with the intent of personal alchemy. They are not intended to be representative of traditional divinatory practice. My personal interpretations (and methods) will likely not agree with those found in popular culture.
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forest of spirits
