One of the coolest things I attended as a spectator this summer was Panhandle Pride. Each year, for the past five years, friends, family, and strangers gather to celebrate old and new friendships and support the LGBTQ+ community.
The dragonflies dart in front of me. They are large and swift, but are careful not to be a nuisance. They rise and fall as they flutter through the air, searching for a perch in which to look for prey.
Every artist has a their own way of creating their masterpieces. Some sit in quiet rooms, diligently plugging away at the ideas in their head to make their ideas real. Others prefer the outdoors or public places. They also have ways of destroying pieces of their creation or completed projects. Each artist has their reasons for doing so. Rarely does the artist ever think about what the public or future generations will think about their actions.
The honesty of empty places
a thought
a smile
books, hiking, breathing
happiness in solitude
enjoyment in alone
sit and watch
humans
animals
smiles from creatures
who do not understand
the joy of isolated socialization
Walk to the car
just walk to the car
there’s no one inside
it’s safe there
speak the words
to quell the thoughts
silence the memories
crush the flashbacks
keep the constant dialogue
to get the fear the fuck out of my head
I have turned in my key. I have made my peace. I am no longer a reporter and photographer for the Star-Herald.
For the past five and a half years, I have written on a variety of topics and always put my best foot forward. That time has come to an end.
There isn’t much to do in a hotel room other than watch what’s on the television. For the most part, British television has just as much crap as American television. On Saturday, however, there was quite the farce televised live because it was Queen Elizabeth’s official birthday.