Archives for the month of: March, 2013

Being a poet, to most people is acceptable in theory, but when it becomes real – i.e. listen to this new piece or come to my feature – it becomes less interesting. In some ways a lot like being gay – many people accept it in theory but please don’t make it a reality by kissing in front of me, or especially the children

dreamer under the rim

dreamer under the rim

Today, in some countries, poets are considered so dangerous they are imprisoned. I can’t imagine that happening in North America. Though I wonder what is worse – physical punishment or a dismissive shrug of ‘who give a shit about a poet.’

a dream awakens

a dream awakens

I have the double whammy – gay poet. If my work isn’t political enough I’m not radical enough, if it’s too political I’m whining, if it’s too sexual I’m just another sad gay man talking smut and feeling sorry for himself.

I’ve also found that when guys on online ‘dating’ sites say they want to know more about me sending them a link to my youtube channel results in never hearing from them again. I guess being what I say I am is just too honest.

truck of dreams

truck of dreams

I’m not complaining just commenting – because ultimately it doesn’t mean shit to a tree anyway. I don’t write for acceptance, tolerance, approval or even for fame & fortune (I’m not delusional). I write because I write.


Got out to Nik Beat’s Howl at Q Space for great night of diverse, compelling readers & musicians & sketch artists. Not that Nik’s show is at all sketchy but there were at least four artists in the crowd wielding pencils & sketch pads.  First feature was Gabrielle Bowen. She read a relaxing series of poems that were about the power of self-healing, tapping into one’s inner light to become ‘energetically adorned’ and ‘no longer holographically blind.’ Her confident and direct delivery left us at a point where ‘no words can be heard only knowing.’

getting the boot snowbank

getting the boot snowbank

Next up was Mindi St. Amand, whose pieces were more grounded in the world or relationships and coffee house. In a Parkdale coffee shop ‘writing stories about winning and losing/ she realized it’s all about the in between.’ Simple images pulled us into a relationship that had become ‘just an over-magazine breaking at the seams.’

getting the cold boot

getting the cold boot

She was followed by Patrick Connors with a set of pieces that were uncomplicated and direct from the heart, messages that weren’t cluttered up with over-polished images but full of raw realizations: ‘up all day climbing the corporate ladder/up all night killing the pain.’

getting the two boots

getting the two boots

After a brief break Joani Paige open her set of songs with ‘The Cigarette Song’ which was perfect for her warm husky alto. ‘you got too many holes in your body.’ Her bluesy folk strumming perfectly supported her great singing.

A quick round of open stagers and the show wrapped by 9.

spring springing March 25, 2013

spring springing March 25, 2013

Taking a little break from City of Valleys excerpts to toss up ‘Sex Magick Quarterly’ one of my ‘Bradbury’ stories. As some of you know I’ve been trying to write a short-story a week – which hasn’t happened but I do have some completed. ‘Sex Magick Quarterly’ is the most developed so far.

ice muffin fishin'

ice muffin fishin’

My main problem has been getting too bogged down with back-story. In Magick this started to happen – Hogsy’s family life; the pals’ school history; both wanted to run away with the story. But I kept in mind that the story wasn’t about family or school. Not easy to stay so narrow focused.

blue bottle flies

blue bottle flies

I also opted to let the names do more work for me – Jimp, Chowda, Hogsy – are names that create a sense of person, even ethic hints, without crowding the plot out with extraneous information.

This version is still half-baked, mind you. I’ve given it a spell-check & such but haven’t created all the linking passages for continuity or ironed out any of the inconsistencies.

yummy yellow snow

yummy yellow snow

By the way in the last 30 days this page has been visited by people in Canada, The United States, United Kingdom, Australia, Poland, Turkey, Indonesia, Japan, Slovakia, Greece, Pakistan, Brazil, Saudi Arabia, Norway and Spain.

Here’s a song I’ve been enjoying


my coming attractions

my coming attractions


March 24 – Sunday – attending – Plasticine Poetry

April 11 – Thursday – hosting – The Beautiful and the Damned


April 14 – Sunday – Cabaret Noir

getting the L out of Loyalist

getting the L out of Loyalist

June 24-28 – attending – Rosemary Aubert’s Fiction Writer’s How To

a short story

a short story

Sex Magic Quarterly

Jimp and Chowda crowded around the cash register of the corner store while Hogsy put the magazines into his knapsack.

Jimp and Chowda teased the woman behind the counter.

“Hey Ma’am looking sweet today.”

“How much are the smokes this week”

“I don’t’ really need an i.d. do I?”

‘“Yeah, We look old enough don’t we.”

They talked quickly. Not pausing for her to fully answer one question before going to the next one.

“You married?”

“You like to play around wid a couple of young studs?”

“I’ll be fifteen next week. That’s old enough, isn’t it?”

Hogsy pushed through them to pay for the one magazine in his hand.

“Hey watch who you shoving asshole.” Chowda slurred.

“You wand a piece of this?” Jimp toyed with his crotch. “You look like the dype. Guys who read love to suck …”

“Shut it.” Hogsy snarled as he waited for his change. He exited the store.


He walked quickly to the nearest streetlight, crossed to the park and found a bench to sit. He leafed through the skate board magazine he had purchased.

“Hey, fadso.” Jimp grabbed the magazine and flopped beside him on the bench. Chowda gabbed Hogsy’s knapsack and sat next to him.

“What we get this time?” He began to pull magazine out of it.

Hogsy took his bag back.

“The usual.” He took the magazines out one at a time. “You know they don’t carry the really hot stuff there.”


Hogsy had met Chowda in grade four and they had had been friends since. They were in the same class for a couple of years in a row till the school got wise and split them up in grade seven. Now in grade ten they were even in different schools. That had been Jimp’s parents doing.

Hogsy met Jimp in grade eight and he fit in with them like the legendary dirty sock.

“It was your fault we can’t go to 77’s anymore.” Hogsy said to Jimp.

“How was I know?” Jimp shrugged. “Not my faud she thought I said dyke when I said bike.”

“Jerk.” Chowda reached over to gave Jimp a shove.

“Speech imp’dmend don’t make me a jerk. Jerk.” Jimp shoved Chowda.

“Hey.” Hogsy clutched at the magazines that Chowda’s move dislodged from his hands.

“Babes” landed on the ground in front of them, flopping open to show a naked woman stepping out of a bath tub. Naked except for some soap foam between her legs.

“Man I’d lub to give her a rinse.” Jimp scooped the magazine up.


“The System works again.” Hogsy boasted. They had started ‘The System’ a couple of years ago. Hogsy would always arrive at the the chosen store separately from Jimp and Chowda. Sometimes before sometimes after. His two buddies would always be loud, playful and distracting, picking on him as much as the clerk. The clerk’s never suspected they were in cahoots.

While they kept the clerk occupied he would fill his backpack with magazines but always buy at least one. They did this routine at several different stores but never hit any one of them for more than two Systems a year.


“So wad did ya get?” Jimp asked.

“Besides Babes. There’s a Cali Gals and Turbo Times for you.” He handed Chowda the magazines. “Lace & Leather and Knock Men for you Jimp.”

“Yea!” Jimp flipped open Knock Men as the other two snickered.

“Wad! Just cause its a comic book don’ mean its for kids. Dook!” He flashed a page of one of the Knock Men peeling the clothes off a busty woman.

“I’d rather look at photos of the real thing.” Chowda ran his thumb over the buttocks of the Cali Gal center fold.

“And this.” Hogsy took the last magazine out of his backpack. “Sex Magick.”

On the cover was a busty, scantily clad model dressed as a witch. Her cleavage glittered in the sunlight. The three boys stared intent at the glitter.

“Wow.” muttered Jimp. “Deep. Led me know when we’re gonna hid bottom.”

Hogsy felt his foreskin itch as the cleavage held his look. He wanted to look away to see what effect it might be having on his pals but he couldn’t.

A cellphone rang. The spell was broken.

“That’s my mom,” Hogsy got out his cell “Hey Mom! … Yeah I’m on my way home now…. Yeah see you in a bit.” He put the cell in a pocket of his backpack. “I gotta get home.”

He put the skate board magazine in his backpack along with Sex Magic.

“Who says you get that one!” Chowda reached for it.

“Look I took the risk.  I got you guys what you wanted didn’t I? This one is my pick.”

“Yeah but …” Jimp glanced at his take. “You god the best one.”

“When I’ve read it I’ll pass it along.” Hogsy zipped his backpack.


Chowda pulled the knapsack from him. “That’s not going to happen! “Look, I got you your CaliGals. And Jimp his comic books.”

“Dey are not comic books. Besides widout us all you’d’av is that Skateboard crap. You don’t even have a skateboard.”

Jimp snatched the backpack from Chowda. “Any more dan you’ll go to Cali.”

He unzipped it and pulled out the magazines Hogsy had stuffed into it. The sun glinted on the Sex Magick cover. The boys were silent.

“Let’s just take look inside.” Jimp begged.

“Okay Okay. Let’s get going before my Mom calls again.” Hogsy said.

As they walked Hogsy resisted the cleavage to look at the rest of the cover. It announced:

“Sex Magick Quarterly Volume 12, Issue 3

This issue’s pull-out sections

new spells for




He flipped it open. The cover was heavier stock than most magazines but the inside paper was of a lower, coarser quality. All the pictures were in black and white. The font was more like handwriting.

“Fuck,” Jimp snorted. “No color pics. Shid you can keep id.”

“Yeah, well … I’d still to take a look at it.” Chowda reached for it.

He yanked it out of Hogsy’s hand and it fell to the sidewalk. Each of the pull out-sections came loose. On the front of each was a different version of the quarterly’s cover picture. The witch was naked in each with different parts of her body glittering. Chowda grabbed the one on Transformation because it drew his eyes to between her legs; Jimp automatically took the one on Familiars because the sparkle on her nipples held him; Hogsy had the one on Expansion where her eyes seemed endlessly deep.


When Hogsy got home he stashed his magazines in a box under his bed. All though supper he itched to read whatever it was the Sex Magick had to say.

“How’s school?” His mother asked.

As Hogsy ate he felt the witch’s eyes burning into him. They seemed to be everywhere he look.

“What’s with you?” His Dad asked. “Answer your mother.”

“Nothing. Thinkin’ bout homework.” He said.

“Yeah, sure.” His mother gave a little laugh. “Who you chatting with online?”

“No one. Jez Mom!” He felt an ache in his groin. “Can I go now!”

“You in trouble again at school?”

“No Dad. You saw the last report.”

“He is doing much better.” His mother said.


Back in his room Hogsy propped open his history text. The Sex Magick pull-out fit perfectly under it so he could read it and hide it fast if someone came into his room

The witch’s glittering eyes danced on and off the page. They seemed to be in 3D. He held the cover at eye level and tilted it this way and that to see what sort of printing technique they had used. Tt had to be some sort of laser print. The eyes darted in a way that made him open the insert.

The first page was an introduction to the use of the spell. He skimmed it. As he skimmed it the print got smaller toward the bottom of the page. It was stuff about getting the right implements, taking take to clear one’s mind. Stuff he didn’t care about.

The weird font and odd use of language also made it difficult for him to understand exactly what was being said then it became another language all together.

“Nam drim incagto Hogsy fridamo.” He was amazed to see his name right there in the spell. He looked away, rubbed his eyes and looked back. Yep it said Hogsy alright!

There was whole paragraph which he felt compelled to say out loud. The words felt odd as he stumbled them but when he read it a second time it flowed and he felt he actually understood what it said. His name only appeared in that one place. After the third time his eyes became heavy and he fell asleep at his desk.

He woke out of a wild sex dream. He was with the witch on the cover making out in a huge, endless bed. The bed was like the beach. She kept touching his cock and balls with her tongue while talking to him. She was speaking in the same language as the spell. He was forced awake by the need to piss.

When he woke he was in bed. He didn’t remember leaving his desk. His cock throbbed with pee pressure and he rushed to the bathroom.


He was struggled with his fly on the way to the bathroom to get his cock out before he pissed his pants. It felt like his underwear had gotten twisted around and all bunched up around his nut sack.

He kicked the bathroom door shut behind him and pushed his jeans down. He could believe what he saw. His cock was big. He was dizzy looking at the size of it. He began to piss and the stream was dark yellow and he was missing the toilet. Pee was splashing off the rim, on to the floor and walls.

He was afraid to touch his cock but had to keep it aimed. How could it grow that much over night? What took one hand to aim now took two. Yesterday he could get his hand around the shaft now it was like trying to get his hands around a … a football.

What the fuck was going on? As he pissed it began to return to normal size till it was the cock he was familiar with.


There was a knocking on the bathroom door as he cleaned up the pee damage around the toilet.

“Come on Harold.”

“Hold your horses Mom.”

He needed to wash his hands but also wanted to get out of there before his mother barged in as she was wont to do.

He pushed past her and went back to his room.

There he got out of the jeans and tee-shirt he had fallen asleep in. He turned on his desk lamp, sat in the chair and looked at his cock. It was the one he was familiar with but it was definitely larger than he remembered it to be.


“Come on!” his mother called. “Get a move on if you want a drive to school this morning. It can’t be that hard to pick out a clean tee-shirt and hoodie.”

“Jes mom give a minute will ya.” he shouted back.

He dashed to the bathroom to wash his face and hands, then back to his room to get dressed.

“There is clean in your dresser.” His mom called to him.

“Okay. Okay.” He’d gotten into the habit of wearing the same things over and over. Sometimes she’d even come into his room when he was asleep to get the clothes he’d been wearing to force him to change his clothes. Tee-shirt, socks, undies, jeans. The jeans were tight. Very tight. The harder he tried to make his cock fit into them the bigger it seemed to get.

“What the fuck.” he muttered as he got the fly zipped. A quick look in the mirror and he saw he had a noticeable bulge even in his baggy assed jeans.


He did his best to hide his growth spurt from his mother by holding his knapsack in front of him and keeping it on his lap in the car till he got out at the school student drop off.

He looked around for Jimp and Chowda but couldn’t spot them. He couldn’t keep carrying his backpack in front of himself either. He reluctantly tied his jacket around his waist hoping the knotted arms would camouflage his bulge. The more he worried about it the tighter it felt in his jeans.

He’d popped a woodie at school before but never one this size.


He made his way to his first period class. He put his backpack on top of the desk for cover as he tried to wedge himself into the seat.

His cock was jammed uncomfortably as he squirmed to fit it under the deck’s top.

“Fu …” he said under his breath. There was plenty of room for his stomach but none for his newly expanded package. Expanded! That was that spell he’d read.


The morning was hell for Hogsy. Several students noticed his bulging package. He found the less he thought of it the less it throbbed or grew. But when his cock got hard he felt faint; his hands tingled and got cold as if the blood was being drained from them into his cock. Was it turning into some sort of vampire dick that would suck all the blood out of him to keep growing? He longed to get home to find that spell to see if there was a way to undo it.

At lunch he went to the Pizza Pound where he always met up with Chowda and Jimp.


He was ordering his favorite slice when Jimp came in, two cats following close behind.

“Get them out of here!” the clerk snapped.

“They ardn’t mine.” Jimp pleaded. “They folloded me here and I dan’t get rid od them.” He sneezed. “Set off my allerdies, too.”

The cats rubbed around his ankles. One tried to jump up onto his shoulder but he deflected it with the back of his hand.

Hogsy opened the door as the clerk and another customer tried to shoo the cats out. One of the cats hissed and scratched at them. The other then jumped up onto the clerk’s back and began to scratch at her neck. Another two cats slipped into the store.

The clerk jerked up and the cat went flying off her back and into the  middle of a pizza a group of students were eating at one of the tables.


The clerk pushed Jimp and then Hogsy out the front door and the cats followed. The cats continued to wrap themselves around Jimp’s feet and ankles, trying to jump onto his shoulders.

“What the hell!” Jimp said trying to untangle his feet as they walked along.

“Yeah.” Hogsy said. “You think you got problems.” He lifted his jacket enough to show off his enlarged crotch.

“Whad!” Jimp gaped. “That for real?”

“Yeah, overnight.”
“You think it might have something to do with this?” Jimp yanked his Sex Magick section out of his back pocket. The four cats sat and stared up at them.

“Hey! Wait for me guys.” They heard Chowda shouting to them.

They stopped and looked around to see where he was.


Across the street all Hogsy could see was a very pretty girl jumping up and down waving. Some students leaving the Pizza Pound waved back to her.

“Now that’s a rack.” Jimp said staring at the waving girl. As she waved her breasts bounced hypnotically.

“For sure.” Hogsy’s cock ached as it swelled.

“It’s me! Over here.”

They could hear Chowda but couldn’t see him. The girl with the big boobs was blocking their view of him.

The lights changed and she ran across the street.

“Isn’t that Chowda’s favorite hoodie?” Jimp asked as she got closer.

Before Hogsy could answer his jeans tore open with a loud rip. His raging cock bounced out. The cats hissed and one of them was ready to claw it when the girl pushed it aside.

“Look what’s happened to me!!” Chowda’s voice came out of the girl.

(Sex Magick Quarterly is a fictional magazine – I cobbled together the cover logo.)

brokeback snow bank

brokeback snow bank

City of Valleys returns Monday.

On one of my too many FB pages someone posted about men dressing age appropriate – mainly regarding what brand names are suitable for what ages – let’s face it no man over fifty looks sane in a Sailor Moon tee-shirt, even at ComicCon – but could he, or should he try for Abercrombie and Finch, or Kappa?

decnoir13the Noir shirt

Each generation has fads: bell-bottoms or uber baggy below-the-ass jeans – that go from passé, to retro, to collectable & finally show up on the Antiques Road Show. But I put my leisure suits to rest when I had leisure time.

My only ‘comment’ was that I’ve stopped wearing sweats (matching or otherwise) in public. Being a fan of What Not To Wear I know that what we present to the public is often a reflection of how we feel about ourselves. That ‘People who judge me by my looks are superficial and never get to know the real me’ attitude often comes from people who judge you by your looks.

I wear what I’m comfortable in – I stopped caring about brand names years ago – if I like the color and the logo doesn’t pull focus from my face, too much, I’ll buy it. I have learned not to pair a flashy tee with a flashy shirt – one or the other. I’m not afraid of color either though I have let go of neon anything – just not flattering for my skin tones.

triothe timeless cosplay look

In Toronto I find it more important to dress weather appropriate. I have a friend, over 50, who clings to his skinny jeans and gripes that thanks to his arthritis it too cold to walk across the street. I choose not to suffer for fashion.

cautioncaution: no white after labour day

Oddly enough one of my frequent photo subjects is discarded clothing. Maybe what gets cast off tells  more about us as people than what we wear.

o superman

o superman

DM Moore hosted another fine BuDa evening of strong open stagers and dynamic features. Her great trivia questions kept the night moving and an unexpected experimental guitar solo sparked the open stage into a new direction.

sole on ice 1

sole on ice 1

First feature Gerald Hannon read sections of his memoir. I particularly related to his late 50‘s small-town life where and the slur ‘fruit’ but he didn’t really know what it meant. He escaped from that life into a city of 1000’s where he hoped to find one other male who felt like he did. I loved his story of college mates who piss-bombed queers in cars only to meet one of them years later as a hungry client when he (Gerald) was a sex-trade worker. I’m also happy to have him recording this gay history too much of which gets lost.

Second feature was Greg “Ritallin” Frankson – he dipped into his own slam history to present the first piece he slammed with and wrapped the set with a recent piece. His sense of social commentary and political activism is clear from the beginning but the focus has become sharper. Sardonic without being jaded or bitter his set was resonant and compelling – ‘the poor aren’t lazy, they’re exhausted – they’re exhausted because they are starving’ ‘minimum wage doesn’t cover minimum needs’

sole on ice 2

sole on ice 2

The final feature was Andraya Smith – fine dances whose Martha Graham training shines through even when coping with an injury. She performed seated on a stationary, red, office chair – even though she never left the chair she flew around the room with an evocative improvised performance. Yet another departure for a reading series – keeping BuDa close to is Cabaret longings.

sole on ice 3

sole on ice 3

Loyalist willow not weeping for me

Loyalist willow not weeping for me

Originally posted on Cytopoetics Events:

The team for The Beautiful and the Damned (Duncan Armstrong, Dianne MoorePhilip Cairns and Lizzie Violet) see themselves as “the enfant terrible of the spoken word/poetry scene” in Toronto.

The show, held on the second Thursday of every month, wants “to be a little more edgy than the other poetry events around town. Many of our performers are from the LGBTT community,” says B & D team member Lizzie Violet. “We also have a musical feature each month. Drag has also been incorporated in our shows, as well as performance art.  As a queer positive reading series we want to not only bring awareness to the community but also feature some of its well known and loved artists.”

Although B & D is not “a queer event, per se” according to Violet, “we aren’t afraid to try new things. To be more irreverent and sexual…

View original 339 more words

A full, appreciative house was on hand for the launch of Lizzie Violet’s Cabaret Noir. The show started well before the figurative curtain went up with Mullet the Zombie clown going table to table to warm up (or was that alarm) people coming to see the show.

mapplethorpe moment

mapplethorpe moment

Fate would have that I was the first performer for this first show – I started off the open stage with a couple of mythic pieces about growing in Cape Breton. a few more open stagers and then Jean-Paul Mullet did his zombie walk to the stage. Mullet is the whole package – excellent make-up right down to red contacts. More a story teller than a physical stick performer, Mullet held us spellbound with his eerie canoe tale – we could hear the ‘wings of a raven over head.’

Next up was David Bateman who captivated us with several ‘creative nonfiction short stories.’ The pieces contained vivid memories of doing hair styling in which realized he was more Sweeney Todd than Miss Clairol; of being warned not the rake the leaves too soon after a funeral lest one risks blowing their souls away with the dead. ‘Sometimes you just have to be love’ posed, amongst other things, the hope understanding by merely repeating the words.

my legs are cold

my legs are cold

Another break and we were wowed, (wobba wobba, ow ow wowed) by Kat Leonard. With her back up band on her iPod we didn’t have to worry about them getting drunk & falling off stage – though Kat did in fact fall off the stage as part of her song about being drunk and falling off stage. Her love songs were tender, sensuous, funny and emotionally invested. She took ‘the four corners of the world and wrapped it around our hearts like a blanket’ and we liked it.

brokeback snow bank

brokeback snow bank

A good time was had by all. Check out Lizzie’s photos and more pics on More Cowbell. Before the show I got to enjoy a cup of Q Space tea and excellent carrot cake. An expanded menu is being worked on – I can’t wait to give it a taste test. Q has quickly become an excellent spoken-word hot-spot. Good sound system, good sight lines, lots of windows make a great venue.

I got stood up for a ‘date’ on the weekend. Something that was once an event that sucks but now … such is life. Sex and getting it, no long rules my life or even my sense of self. Not that I don’t enjoy opportunities when they present themselves, but the search – the seeking of opportunity no longer swallows all my time.

get yer skates on

get yer skates on

He was some guy who texted me on a gay ‘dating’ site and was very eager about meeting up, etc. etc. I take the whole process with an amused grain of salt. I’ve seen the same cock shots on different sites for different men apparently living not only in different cities but different continents. Yes I’ve looked – nothing warms up a sub-zero day like gazing at men in Brazil.

Guys on line are liars – who is shocked by that? I’m sure women are just capable of being dishonest – posting pics of when they weighed 2o pounds less, that are also ten years old. This is what happens.

composition in greens

composition in greens

I ‘run’ into guys who want to meet ‘now’ as long as ‘now’ is same time tomorrow; or who only want oral and get pissed off when you won’t flip for them; or guys who are eager but only for times you’ve already made it clear you aren’t available.

bus stop discorporation

bus stop discorporation

So getting stood up doesn’t faze me that much. I have a big life – sex is something that I fit into it but doesn’t stop for it either. I always have something to do. The guy did send an apology the next day but by then I had already moved on – I have a novel to finish – that’s always more satisfying.

can I get a menu

cold cafe service

I suffer from a social medial disease that leads me to expect more than can be delivered. When I see fifty rsvp accepts to a FB invite I learned not to anticipate all fifty showing up but nor do I even expect any of them to show up. I don’t quite get this sort of people pleasing – afraid not to accept the invite but then not caring to show up at all?

above the clouds

above the clouds

Since bumping up to high-speed a couple of years ago I was able to increase my social media presence with FB, then WordPress, and Twitter. All on top of my various email accounts, YouTube, Yahoo Groups. Over 200 FB friends merely means more status updates than I can keep track of, endless invites to events I’ll never go to – but I do say no rather than  fake yes or maybe. That way if I show up it comes as a pleasant (I hope) surprise.

I have some 40 likes for my City of Valleys FB page, over 4o subscribers to my WP blog, 40 twitter followers – yet rarely do I get more than 20 hits for my WP page – except when I do a spoken-word review.

below the clouds

below the clouds

But I suppose that’s better than no on-line presence at all. No publisher will accept an author who does not have a web page of some sort – many publishing contracts now include that as a must. So I’ve done that and have learned how to comport myself. Unlike some I don’t pester my few twitter followers with constant reminders about my web pages or flood their feeds with a endless the same # anything that eventually covers everyone on my list as some do regularly. Keep simple.

lingering clouds

lingering clouds

My social medial disease immunity has built up some. I know that being on line is merely being on line – it isn’t a real connection with everyone on any given site. Many of us are only connected so we have numbers not friends, so that we have numbers and not even an audience, we have numbers not sales. Such is life.


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