It's been a hard post's write

> I feel like I am spending my life desperately wanting a > man to commit to me. To love me unconditionally.

I could be wrong, but I get the feeling you've landed on the wrong planet for that, because I can't so much as find a single person that, after drinking soda/pop from a can, puts the can in a recycling bin instead of either the regular garbage, or just anywhere around the house.

(And, of course, I mean first emptying the can before doing that – which itself seems to be rocket science for this species.)

> No one ever taught me how to love myself. My mother showed > me how to show others love. But that's nowhere near as > useful as she hoped It would be.

How dare she show you how to show others love without also showing you how to be patient for how long it takes for showing others love to seem to matter! :–)

> I am reminded that there is a flash flood warning in > effect. I will more than likely be living on Oakville > Island in the next 24 hours because when everything > floods, all major roads are closed except for Highway 55. > Summer 2019 saw Flood Of 1993 levels here in STL but > it didn’t make the news because too much bad shit was > happening everywhere else to deem it newsworthy. Our planet > is fucked.

Because of some flooding in a miniscule portion of it?

<next morning>

> Without God, everything is permitted > > With God, everything is commanded.

To a self.

Lose that, and God

<intentional non-ending>

> I apologize if you have found this blog. I occasionally > write here, but I do not accept any responsibility for > any damage caused by me writing here.

Seems fine to me.

Bring it!

> Let there be a garden on the bare earth I lived.

I'm liking that as an over-guiding principle for how to live and, with a modicum of planning and rigor, leave things.

> Zero punctuation is zero rhythm. > > Color with no outline. Raw.

Whitespace and/or newlines can be effective (especially in a fixed font).

> 'I meet another drifter on the fringes.. a settler, a > Shaman of the dispossessed with inky black glyphs marking > the backs of his hands — he shows me how to access the > old energies to decode the tags graffed up and down the > walls, ..liminal sigils he calls them'

I'd hoped for the same in blogging spaces, but thus far have wound up infinitely empty relative to what the old Craigslist “Strictly Platonic” forum did for me.