Like milk, people have a propensity to curdle. This is why we must drink them in before it is too late and we have no choice but to throw them away.
I am bifurcated into the me that is irreverent, outré even, and the me that self-flagellates. In other words, I swing from one pole to another in my desperate search for an identity.
I have zero patience for ideological certitude, people who fear change, sports of any kind, and religious maniacs.
I have no idea if anyone will ever read my writing. I mean, my guess is likely not, but a guess is just a guess at the end of the day. What I do know is I write as if it is a fait accompli that someone, anyone, will one day read my writing.
A business is a tribe first and profit-maximising entity second. As a distant third, it is a taxpayer. Discuss.
I can’t abide ponderous people. The kind of people I can abide are erratic, impulsive, preferably maniacal. That’s just the way it is for me. Not that it matters (in the slightest).
Harry Potter? Never read a single word, never will. I am a literary snob after all.