The Master and the Sea

The great man, Master of the Royal Mint,
Was possessed by a seminal lunacy
Much to his chagrin, he lost most of his fortune in the damn'd South Sea
After first doubling his money, he became infected with animal spirits
The madness of the crowds, he'd plain forgotten the lesson of the tulips

He doubled down repeatedly,
Fully taken in with the heights of delusion
Plain greed overtook the age's premier scientist,
A whiff of collective hubris
For judgment goes missing in action when in the throes of a mania
The most dubious schemes seem to garner a golden sheen of hysteria

The erstwhile Warden of the Mint,
Who recoined the very fabric of the state
Someone so well versed in finance,
Considered the ultimate sophisticate
Days consulting on the search for Longitude,
Leading the Royal Society
A large retinue of servants,
Evenings entertaining visiting dignitaries

Enter the alchemists, the boosters, the miscreants and the storytellers
So compelling were their promises, there was no doubt returns would be stellar
Well he lost his shirt when the bubble popped,
along with many other notables
History would be an unforgiving judge,
indeed his dismay was ever quotable

That he poured half of his net worth into soon to be worthless stock
To great amusement in the House of Commons and the many press reports
A lesson for the ages this episode,
an alternative reading of Newton's Principle

"I can calculate the motions of the heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people."

After reading

• Isaac Newton and the perils of the financial South Sea
• The Damn'd South Sea

See also: A Seminal Lunacy

A Seminal Lunacy, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money) by Pet Shop Boys
• I'm a Greedy Man by James Brown
• Ez Come Ez Go (What goes up must come down) by Wreckx-N-Effect
• I Wanna be Rich by Calloway
• The Boy in the Bubble by Paul Simon
• Fool's Paradise by Meli'sa Morgan
• Money, Money, Money by ABBA
• Caught Up by Usher
• Easy Come, Easy Go by Steve Lawrence
• Greed by Bill Evans
• It's Going Down by Ralph Tresvant
• Easy Come, Easy Go Blues by Bessie Smith
• Shut Em Down (Pete Rock mix) by Public Enemy

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried


File under: humour, bubble, hatchet job, economics, finance, panic, credit, depression, history, Newton, culture, observation, perception, greed, hubris, poetry, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log. June 21, 2022

Breakthrough

It was quite uncanny, the mailman had pulled up in his truck at the curbside
I walked out, for want of a change, to pick up the day's mail
The neighbor must have had the same idea. We walked in parallel
There were head nods but, that morning, we skipped the usual pleasantries
For we were both wearing N-95 masks, the ones you use in extremis
The ones that, by design, require some effort to take off
It didn't need to be said, the same visitor had breached our walls
A quick glance at each other, solidarity and a touch of recognition
Stoic and grim-faced, we turned and walked back in our houses

...

They call it a breakthrough, a breach of your body's fortified defenses
For the weapons on hand were finely targeted at the ancestral strain
And new variants, equipped with modified spikes, could maneuver around
What with waning effectiveness, the natural decay of protection would obtain
It was said that the severity and intensity of the attack would be reduced
Because of the multiple layers that, once activated, would come into play
Generalists, those memory cells that would serve to root out the scourge
Even when the antibody specialists, those shock troops were overwhelmed
Vaccines were engineered in record time, in many ways it was a miracle
To guard against severe disease and death, for that we must be thankful
Still, so many bought the promise of a panacea in a fit of wishful thinking
That they ignored all other measures leaving us prone to breakthrough infections

...

Did I give it to you? Will I die?
Heartbreaking that his first thought was whether he'd infected you
No need for guilt, young man, you'll pull through
It's nobody's fault but mine, my son
Went against my better judgment, it was a lapse
We tried to keep you safe but, at length, we missed
The gods would dispose of human vanity
We are challenged and the future may be perilous
But we trust also that the gods have mercy
So I'm going to snuggle up and give you a hug
But, first things first, let's find us some masks

Breakthrough, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• There it is by James Brown
• Here it is! by Alan Toussaint
• There it is by Shalamar
• Overcome by Tricky
• Nobody's fault but mine by Nina Simone
• There it is by Barry White
• Breakthrough by JazzyFatNastees
• There it is by Tyrone Davis

After Omicron BA.2.75 (Centaurus)

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time

File under: coronavirus, pandemic, disease, culture, observation, health, perception, life, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 21, 2022

Three Seconds

It was the microwave situation when it came down to it
It was her way with the microwave that really got to him
She simply couldn't bring herself to press the stop button
Preferring instead, as the timer counted down, to pull the door open

She had the puzzling but unerring habit
Of interrupting the microwave's operation
With just a few seconds to spare on the digital timer
0:02 or, more typically, 0:03 seconds, unblinking
Stark numbers would stare at you from the control panel

He grew increasingly infuriated at the countdown idiosyncrasy
Destabilized, as he was, by the tension of those last remaining seconds
Of late, he noticed that she had even taken to leaving the display stuck at 0:01
Virtuosity in her timing that upped the ante of dismay

Why leave just a few seconds on the clock? It made no sense
Did she really need to heat things up for 57 seconds?
Why not wait for the satisfaction of the final beeps?
Defrost for 28 instead of 30 seconds? What was her issue?
Was it an aversion to hearing the beeping microwave?
An aural infirmity or a baroque superstition?

She never said anything about it, ignorance was bliss
It's the small things that get to you, that you start to notice
The way someone squeezes the toothpaste tube, all those things
But the microwave situation was, quite simply, confounding
The tension of those last few seconds that left you hanging

Still, love is blindness, he decided to take it as an omen
A saving grace, this eccentricity of never pressing the stop button
He made his peace with the strange legacy of those three seconds
Comforted that it would always be around midnight in their kitchen

Three Seconds, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Three Seconds by Oliver Nelson
• Hanging on a String by Loose Ends
• Never Stop by Brand New Heavies
• Digital Display by Ready for the World
• The Control Panel by Richard Yost
• Microwave Blues by Ralph Lalama
• Clocks by Coldplay
• A Few Seconds by Loiseau
• Just a Little Bit Longer by Maxi Priest
• 'Round Midnight by Thelonious Monk
• Things That Annoy Me A Bit by Scott Sandwich
  Concluding with a spoken word piece to destabilize things

[Update]

Apparently some even see this deviance as a game these days

File under: life, Small Things, culture, observation, humour, perception, relationships, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 17, 2022

Memory Islands

The ancients observed that reversals were, in many ways, as important
As the victories their communities would accrue in the course of affairs
It would become their practice to find a way to commemorate the former
Even as even the most minor triumphs were what tended to be celebrated

They recognized, however, that it is hard to resist the temptation of the salutary
When the alternative prospect is of encumbering the mind with the unpleasant
After a long consultation with the gods, they devised a solution
The mist of memory became a safe haven

The contours of this terrain was replete with caveats
Overstuffed caves and secret chambers of detailed recall
Next to retreats to escape hatches of situational amnesia
Memory islands were the conflicted legacy of mankind

Too acute a remembrance and one is inhibited
For, if vivid and at the forefront of the mind, a memory can surely blind
Too raw a reminder of past hurt, and decision making would be tentative
They found that sometimes memories were debilitating and that forgetting was best

A fine balance was needed, however, to navigate this fraught life
For, on other occasions, the reverse would be summoned
In many perilous moments, prompt recall can be of the essence
And, even without urgency, precise action can be preferable to a blank slate

The moderns - we should not begrudge them, would now speak of hormones
And sundry glands and secretions that encode our instinctive responses
Yet the ancients would maintain that these textures of ancestral memory
Are merely the rivers that course through nature's memory islands

Memory Islands, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Do You Remember by Jill Scott
• Forget Me Nots by Patrice Rushen
• It's Easy to Remember by Billie Holiday
• Don't You (Forget about Me) by Simple Minds
• I Remember When by Stan Getz
• Did I Remember by Billie Holiday
• Remember When by Ronny Jordan

See previously: Decision to Forget. Cultural memory is my enduring theme.

File under: decisions, memory, culture, observation, strategy, perception, Buyer's Remorse, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 9, 2022

Celestial Visitor

Venus would appear in its first guise as a morning star
Paving the way for the sun to rise a few hours later
And casting a faint shadow in its greatest illuminated extent
A waxing crescent state in the predawn hours
The liminal twilight before sunrise

In modern times, adjustments were needed amidst the man-made glare
To favor eyes unaccustomed to discerning such distant objects
How best to perceive its shape during the fleeting apparition
The advice was to first stare at the receding horizon
To habituate the senses to behold the roving vision
For the eye to truly gather a full glimpse
We had to learn anew how to see the wonders of this world

Still, the ancients would take its journey as an omen
In their urge to understand the paths of nature's higher bodies
A reminder, in its elliptical motion, of the proper order of things
Mankind's gaze recorded that Venus would precede the sun

Thus it was their practice to wake at the crack of dawn
To savor the quality of the light of the early morning sun
And they would make sure that those bearing the very young
Would be shielded in the shadows from the later burning sun

And the word was passed down, the stories were retold across the ages
Grandmothers would explain as they called you in, mine would speak in this way:

Spirits are often contemplated in the dark, messengers of the night
And Venus, in its full grandeur, visits humanity before sunrise

Venus, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Morning Star by Stan Getz
• Venus Rising by Wallace Roney
• Morning Star by Jack DeJohnette's Directions
• Cumbia de Venus by La Sonora Norte
• Morning Star by Sarah Vaughan
• Venus by Lutan Fyah
• Morning Star by Johnny Clarke
• Venus Rising by Barry Osbourn
• Morning Star by The Scientist
• Venus Sunrise by Pranatronic
• Morning Star (Live) by Stan Getz
• Elliptical by Wallace Roney

Bonus beats: Happier than the morning sun by Stevie Wonder

File under: life, myth, culture, observation, perception, astronomy, appreciation, tradition, nature, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 9, 2022

Rub-A-Dub Style

I'll confess that my intentions in your regard are not what you'd call honorable
That the ache that I feel points to a rather earthy origin
Pores, skin, flesh and ultimately sweat are what I envision
In the moment, you can bring the laughter, I'll make sure to bring the heat
We can go Dutch, rub-a-dub style, you do know what that means

The highlights, we'll never forget,
And even a mundane touch will be remarkable
Stay with me, whatever fits the bill,
I'll lay all my cards on the table
These words may be intense but are a mere testament to my ambitions
It's about the great longing, rub-a-dub style, you know what I mean

Nights exchanging whispers and then screams of passion
Surprising ourselves and watching each other's reactions
But, first things first, can I hold your hand?
Let me not get ahead of myself, may I have this dance?
Let's make memories rub-a-dub style, know what I mean?

Rub-A-Dub Style, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, I favor a direct approach in accordance with the style. 25 odd spins on the rub-a-dub notion starting of course with Johnny Osbourne's One More Rub-A-Dub and the great Dennis Brown's Rub-A-Dub all the time. (spotify version)

File under: love, humour, language, seduction, attention, hubris, flirtation, toasting, culture, observation, perception, male gaze, toli, poetry

Writing log. June 7, 2022

Forever

The child understands that your love is forever
As permanent, that is, as the smile that overcame you
As the tongue you snuck out as you played peekaboo
The child sees clearly, trusting in this truth
And worries not
Forever is your burden to share
No, the child does not worry
The duty of worrying is yours alone

And so child, I worry about what you might learn about forever
That the things that God creates only approach forever
That the pleasures of the senses are best appreciated in proportion to their rarity
That even hugs and kisses have their limits
That your very presence is not guaranteed
That your very smile, mischievous at that, might be fleeting
That your roving mind, lively and inquisitive, might enter autumn
That those unending questions could one day be silenced
That, in this land - prone, you could be brought low for a nothing
That there is a difference between forever and eternity
That here on earth, we can only promise forever
That indeed, we are only promised forever

But my child, even if eternity is foreclosed to us by fickle gods
Know that my love is forever
Know this, my child, forever
Forever and a day

Forever, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, one of my favorite playlists, quietly devastating soul (spotify version)

• 4ever by Entouch
• Forever by Jonathan Butler
• Forever in my Life by Prince
• Make it Last Forever by Keith Sweat
• Always and Forever by Heatwave
• All I Want is Forever by Regina Belle
• Forever my Lady by Jodeci
• Forever, for always, for love by Lalah Hathaway
• Forever, for always, for love by Luther Vandross
• This love is forever by Howard Hewett

File under: life, love, culture, parenting, life, observation, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 6, 2022

The Voiceless Past

A terrain of uncertainty
And a time of imposition
It was rough going, to be frank,
Fraught days best left forgotten

We eked out a strange kind of life
The small mercies sufficient unto themselves
When dread was a daily intruder
And our only defense was a stare

Branded itinerant, of no fixed abode
Still we fashioned temporary shelter
Falteringly, we laid our bed of unease
Always wondering when we would next hear laughter

But even in the most precarious moments
We remembered the words of the ancestral songs
And even if we could only sing them softly
We were comforted by their blanket of soul

Serene about the way forward, resolute about the challenge
This interlude shall pass, and we will leave our mark
And the elders' refrain will resound
Full throated, all parts sung in harmony:

In those painful hours, our hearts were hoping
In those silent days, our eyes were watching
In those dark years, our wounds were healing
For even with the tears, we knew our time was coming

The spirits returned our voices, truly the world will remember
And we shall tell everyone the story of those dark chapters
How we never gave up the struggle and proved our mettle
Remember: there is more in the mortar than the pestle

The Voiceless Past, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• We're Gonna Make It by Alyson Williams and Ted Mills
• Tryin' Times by Donny Hathaway
• When We Get by by D'Angelo
• Hard Times by Baby Huey
• Stare and Stare by Curtis Mayfield
• Hard Time by Gregory Isaacs
• Protection by Massive Attack
• Time Tough by Toots and the Maytals
• Protection by Gregory Isaacs
• Tryin' Times by Roberta Flack
• Remember by Hank Mobley

After Talking Drums

File under: culture, memory, observation, perception, strategy, displacement, Ghana, coup, Africa, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 6, 2022

The Corner of 12th and Chicon

Transitional you may call it these days, the corner of 12th and Chicon
A far cry from its salad days as an out-and-out combat zone
When hardened hookers used to walk the streets barely causing a shrug
And the weary cops turned a blind eye to the open air markets of drugs

Change has been long coming but it creeps up on you all of a sudden
Places betray only faint traces of their previous reputation
Located just a mile from downtown, no wonder there's been gentrification
The inescapable reality of commerce and real estate transactions

Suffice to say in this case, that there has been a whitening
A rebrand now that the corner is no longer so frightening
And as a fitting testament to the changing face of East Austin
On the mural, they painted the face of Bad-era Michael Jackson

Still, the other heroes are there, defiant:
   Bob Marley, Nina Simone and Prince
Thurgood Marshall, James Brown, Sade,
   Sly Stone (or is it Jimi Hendrix?)
The conscience of a certain tribe: Dick Gregory, Muhammad Ali
And, keeping it real, conflicted martyrs like Tupac and Biggie

Throughout, the nearby Eastside Community Church aimed to provide shelter
Modified latterly to host, on its premises, a Pregnancy Resource Center
You never know in Texas, this was ground zero for maternal mortality
Where Barbara Jordan fought for civil rights, they try to preserve her legacy

The last holdouts remain but now no longer hold sway
Just a few transients holding on to faded glory days
Rough trade, ambling in the early morning to the liquor store
Passing, as they do, the fresh-faced women out walking their dogs

Lululemon leggings, some carrying their yoga mats, nubile young things
Or the others now heading to work out on the shiny exercise machines
Complicated tributes to physical perfection, elliptical witnesses
On their treadmills to modernity, edifices of health and fitness

The parking lots where the Guinean immigrants would sell African clothes
Trinkets, carvings, dashikis, herbal oils, and the like are now mostly closed
Once their steady remedial work was done, the developers moved in
It's a safe neighborhood now, and on a few plots they've started construction

A couple of desultory food trucks, beasts of burden, now stand alone
On the way to middle school with the 11 year old past 12th and Chicon
No crossing guard here, those who walk these streets are on their own
Eyes wide open, we take it all in. Then a quick hug before I turn and walk home

The Corner, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• The Corner by Common ft The Last Poets
• Ital Corner by Prince Jazzbo
  One step forward, two steps backwards on the corner. "Now you are commercial" in Babylon go the lyrics of this upsetter dub joint.
• Street Corner Symphony by Kook & the Gang
• Look Around the Corner by Quantic & Alice Russell
• For Corners by Digable Planets
• Hell is Round the Corner by Tricky
• Blues on the Corner by McCoy Tyner
• On the Corner by Miles Davis

Bonus beats: Street Corner Hustler Blues by Lou Rawls

See previously Inman Square Still Life and Coyote Point

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time

File under: culture, observation, perception, Austin, Texas, race, black, urban, city, gentrification, history, poverty, economics, USA, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log: August 31, 2022

Academic Discourse

Informants were forcibly struck
     By inadvertent socio-cognitive barriers
Where assumed nuances facilitated sensemaking
    Within the same systemic design community

The organizers initiated the webinar
     Effectively problematizing group interaction
Playing the role of existential gatekeepers
     Making use of information and communication technologies

Informal knowledge is reinterpreted
     Within a group's particular context
Socialized to a degree by volunteers
     Providing practical learning experience

Demarcating, at once, well integrated empirical findings
    That a majority of members would endorse
Immersed in exploitation spanning boundaries,
    The sphere of academic discourse

Academic Discourse, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Words into Action by Mica Paris (ft. Paul Johnson)
• I Just Don't Understand by Ann-Margaret
• Complexity by The Roots (ft. Jill Scott)
• Don't You Understand by Saunders Sermons

After reading some veritable word salad masquerading as jargon

See previously Eating People is Wrong and Duty of Care

File under: language, absurd, jargon, academia, obfuscation, humour, satire, culture, education, observation, perception, poetry, hatchet job, toli

Writing log. June 4, 2022

The Occasional Regret

Sometimes technology gets in the way,
There are ghosts in the machine, it seems
Or perhaps gremlins are the proper genus of the species
For when, in your haste to wish your interlocutor
Simple encouragements and the best of luck,
Your typed message got garbled by the darned computer
Transformed into choice obscenity before you could react
And now you wish that the whole interaction was something you could retract
Flush with mounting embarrassment
  And awkwardness that you're unable to deflect
All that is left is to bemoan it:
  The occasional regret of auto-correct

...

Sometimes when you're confronted with a choice,
You decide to take the easy way out
Unwilling, as you are, to listen to other voices
Or even entertain a scintilla of a doubt
You find yourself beefing up and promoting a patent scoundrel
Marshaling fraudulent arguments on the basis that he's a lesser evil
And now, without shame, he's hellbent on crudely screwing the pooch
The bodies are piled up high,
Unmitigated disasters while he cheerfully loots
  The uncouth rascal,
The hatchet jobs write themselves for even middling pundits
But now you have to stay silent as you were well and truly complicit
Call it buyer's remorse:
  The occasional regret of claiming to know what's best

...

Sometimes you decide to invade a smaller country
Might makes right and it will serve all your cronies
Fictitious claims, weapons of mass destruction
Vague but imminent threats and human rights violations
Ignoring, in your rush, all evidence to the contrary
Riding roughshod over any attempts at diplomacy
Wars of choice never lead to mission accomplished
After this catastrophic war on the wrong target, you are fully tarnished
Beyond the blood and lost valor,
  Your nation now entirely lacks credibility
Hell, even Putin can rightly accuse you of being part of an axis of hypocrisy
While badging his aggrandizing crimes with the same patina of manifest destiny
Oops, a cautionary tale:
  The occasional regret of the self-righteous mindset

Sometimes, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Sometimes by Bilal
• Sometimes by Erykah Badu
• Sometimes by Brand New Heavies
• Sometimes I Cry by Les McCann
• Sometimes (Mix #9) by Erykah Badu
• Sometimes I Cry by Eric Benet
• Sometimes by Mint Condition

See also Regret, a playlist

See previously: The Writing's on the Wall and Regret is all

File under: humour, life, technology, culture, observation, hatchet job, rogues, failure, politics, war, Iraq, USA, Bush, England, media, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, humour, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 4, 2022

The Ingredients of Catharsis

Release, when it comes, is best served with a grain of salt
For it's been so long brewing that anticipation is pungent
Sweeten to taste with local honey, something fit for a prince
Or substitute with some unrefined beet or cane sugar

Grind slowly in a mortar of regret
Using a solid pestle for the best blend
Crush and pulverize the sense of alienation
If need be, pound heavily and enjoy the sensation

Simmer until the stock in trade has been clarified
A half cup of consommé should be more than you need
Bitter fruits are to be avoided if at all possible
Not every guest can handle the likely fermentation

A few drops of concern should be sufficient to allay any anxiety
Pair with a tart topping of wist to highlight the sourness
Loneliness should sizzle to properly savor the contrast
If you prefer astringency, serve medium rare but use only the freshest cuts

Consider the sense of purpose and remember your roots
Answers emerge languidly from the recesses of the mind
Albeit golden memories make for the perfect pairing
Don't restrict yourself, indulge your imagination

Someday soon you'll surely return home and recapture the feeling
When you can drop the mask and, unfiltered, embrace normalcy
And testify in earnest conversation, a return to innocence
Relief and equanimity, the main ingredients of catharsis

Ingredients of Catharsis, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Kinshasa Mboka Ya Makambo by Franco
  A striking mood piece, if this was a concert opener, you'd know you were in for a very special treat.
• The Ingredients of Love by Angie Stone and Musiq Soulchild
• Salt by Lizz Wright
• I Want a Little Sugar in my Bowl by Nina Simone
• Testify by Sounds of Blackness
• Been so Long by Anita Baker
• Just don't want to be Lonely by The Main Ingredient
• I Shall be Released by Nina Simone
• The Pressure by Sounds of Blackness
• Nice 'n Greasy by Lou Donaldson
• At Last by Etta James
• Release by Hil St. Soul
• Kinshasa Mboka Ya Makambo by Franco (live)
  The live rendition always stops me in my tracks, the simplicity of the performance, the way he grips the audience taking his time to cajole, lament and celebrate his return. He never forgot his roots, his people and this city of many troubles. Franco is sorely missed, a legend in African music.

File under: culture, observation, perception, displacement, poetry, toli

Writing log. June 3, 2022

High Tech Luddite

High tech Luddite, you might well say
Finally fed up, it was was my then-fiancée
Who got me my first mobile phone that Independence Day
Tired as she was, frankly, about my anti-social ways
She put me on the Friends-and-Family plan and said "Say no more"
Reader, I married her, months later, and carried her across the door

I work with cutting edge software but continue to be a late adopter
Friends often remark about my puzzling inertia
Looks of concern and wonder, as if I were allergic
To all those shiny gadgets, must-haves, and flashy widgets
Those social networks, elite apps, and newfangled platforms
I'm always out of the loop and unaware of the latest norms
I guess that I'm altogether immune to the fear of missing out
And trust that when I do move they'll have finally worked out the bugs

Vinyl and hefty speakers, my sound system dates from a bygone era
When veritable dinosaurs roamed the land along with other chimera
The kids joke that I write in my dusty notebooks with ancient quills
Preferring manual over automatic as I do, an aesthetic of low frills
This studied indifference has served me well but sometimes beggars can't be choosers
Sixteen years later, I finally got the courage to ask to be an authorized user
For, with a cracked screen and sharp spikes that make it a danger zone,
Apparently I still need permission in order to upgrade my vintage phone

Old School, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Old school by Lucky Mensah
• Obsolete by Mc Solaar
• A bit old-fashioned by Babyface
• Rock me tonight (for old times's sake) by Freddie Jackson
• Old fashioned by Cee-Lo
• I'm old fashioned by John Coltrane
• Flavour of the old school by Beverly Knight
• Old school by CunninLynguists
• Old school feeling by Rebelution
• Old school by Burning Spear

File under: humour, technology, adoption, culture, life, observation, perception, poetry, toli

Writing log. May 15, 2022