So, time supposedly heals all wounds, Well, unless that’s a pleasant way of saying, “Dying means it no longer matters.”, like most such sayings it’s a crock. Here’s my proof. The last time I posted here the Patriots were the reigning Super Bowl champs. Guess what? More proof? They’ve been in it since 2017. If it weren’t for Trump being President, I’d say time had stopped. It certainly hasn’t, despite the NYT’s claims that it’s coming to an end along with the world. I do love the irony of the Time’s Chicken Little’s editorial slant. Why should we waste our time changing our ways when we are doomed, the planet is doomed, democracy is doomed, the Godless Universe is contracting and the free press is in danger of being lost to fake news?
Where is the photography angle? Not one. Have I stopped taking photos? No. Where are they? Posted to Instagram. Where’s your link? It’s a secret. Why? Because I can. And this? This must either disappear or become something else. But, here I’m fortunate, nobody reads this Blog. This entire paragraph is rhetorical. Based entirely on a conversation in my head. So what will it become? Something different, eh? Eh? It’s inside your head. Fair enough. It’s tough being ignored by the World Wide Web isn’t it? It just mirrors my non Internet reality.