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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,800 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 47 trips to carry that many people.
Beauty finds me and tempts with Addiction
She strolls with a hint of sadness
Carries herself proudly
Walking with a glint of brightness
On the horizon
A group of talented people magically lift and pull me forward.
Different path’s led us to this place,
Different stories hold our attention,
Different words leave our hands.
The title carved in stone and polished through time “Writer” cannot be self-appointed, it is too heavy.
I belong with a tribe of writers – perhaps someday it will be earned.
I don’t even remember the first Time that I did it.
It was no big deal, not like forming some kind of habit.
Over Time I did it a little more often, I quietly killed some.
Sometimes it was fun, mostly just doing it out of occasional boredom.
Suddenly one day I was driven to obsession.
Murdering in mass and serial slaughtering consumed me.
Death now burned my eyes as they opened in the early hours.
Random methods to choke, smother and drown Time became routine.
Driving the need to kill Time and feed my aging Dragon.
When I wear my Grandfathers’ clothes: it is a hug from the past.
I proudly wear the coveralls of one and the winter jacket of the other.
These Giants of my youth quietly surround me.
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” — Anais Nin
“If you want a cool Tombstone, pick it out yourself.”
My phone has traces of acquaintances, pets, friends and family who are no longer living.
No longer living here with us.
Their birthday’s pop-up as if to remind and say “Don’t forget me.”
Photos in the memory mix float around and surface at times, blending in with new experiences.
It is hard enough to say “Goodbye” in this life,
making [Delete] impossible.
So, My Collection Grows…
Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them,
Filling an emptiness we don’t even know we have.
–Thom Jones
Can Bryan Write? 