Tag Archives: Arts

8. drink coffee

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My favorite info-graphic from SoulPancake lists drinking coffee as one of its 29 way to stay creative.  Well.  If so, I’m brimming with creativeness.  And really, with just two hours left to get funds into my KickStarter, I can’t tell you if it is creativity I’m feeling or dread.

I mean- Guess what I have to do now? I have to publish this project. I have to do work, I have to finish the cover photo set up, I have to edit and edit and edit, I have to – breathe.  Because, see this KickStarter hasn’t just given me the funds to make this project a reality — but a spark of faith in myself.

Thing is, there were enough folks out there who had enough faith in me to go ahead and throw me some dough — and really in honor of that faith – I’ve got to finish this baby up.  And that is – scary, and overwhelming, and wonderful, and just awesome, all at the same damn time.

Thank you people, just thank you – for reading, for coming out to see my work on Tuesdays, for breathing life into me through your support — That is no overstretched metaphor.  That – that is just the truth. 

 

 

 

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Still haven’t pre-ordered a book yet?  You’ve got 111 minutes to do so  here —  110.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, hey, how you doin’ – or – summer to-do list.

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Yah that was supposed to sound like Joey – yah, the one from Friends. Yah, I haven’t written in two months.  Yah, I’m not sure what I had to say or not say. But here I am writing again. Making a list, because, well, you have to break the writers block some way, and well, I like lists. . . a lot . . like a whole lot.

Summer To-Do

Yah, that should do for today.

Two things in contrast at 10:14pm

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The World is Too Much With Us

by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not.–Great God! I’d rather be

A pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

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