The entirety of my thoughtful ignorance is recorded here.


Sugar cookie sand. Sticky lemonade. Lollipop umbrellas. And those big bug-eye sunglasses. I love summer. I love it very, very much. For it is a special feeling to wake up from your nap and realize that the only worry on your mind is trapped in the plot of your little sun-faded book, distant and fantastic. 

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The Road Is Life

As I write this, I feel a sense of daunt. 

A sense of daunt because I'm still not quite sure where I am going with all this. What do I care to write that others might enjoy? Why share my photos when I have quietly enjoyed them to myself for all these years? What's changed to drive me here? 

I don't know. I haven't got a clue. And so, the daunt.

I feel a sense of daunt because I fear I've become host to what I hate most in those around me. Narcissism. Arrogance. A animalistic addiction to attention.

I feel a sense of daunt because for the first time in a long time, I don't have a good sense of the destination, no matter how hard I squint and squirm. There is no light or moon to walk towards. No path or trail to follow. No horizon to check now and then. 

And so, I find myself hovering around words by Kerouac, one of my personal greats. And it's just four words. No more. No less. Just four.

The road is life.

The road is life. Now watch me drive aimlessly.