Well here. I am. I AM. 6 years later. Still the same me. Still the same thoughts and practices but circling around. Back to myself to re-evaluate, re-examine. Again. I find the writing faster than the painting. The creativity so portable and personal. Though linear. But I do appreciate typing these keys keys for me. Seems appropriate  to make the connections more easily since I am typing by day. Sending data. Translating thoughts through keys and letters and phonics and then sending them through space to other translator  boxes. For other eyes to see and interpret  and process and digest. Whew...did I need to get away from that shit show. That mudslinging circus that we have become a part of. No elements of self protection can guard you from the back alley that social media has become. It steals you from yourself under the guise of connectedness. At least this is my present truth with it. For sure there are benefits and pleasantries and cute babies and kittens sprinkled in but the social experiment has run amuck and I am content to sit back and recalibrate. Sharing with my own damn self. Looking at my own damn posts. Right here in the empty hall that provides expression un fucked with. black and white. Clean and crisp. quiet. and mine. simple and lovely.liquid