Some folks sprint passionately into the public sphere, others tiptoe with trepidation. Some are loud and brash, others are inhibited. Some feel they have much to say, others believe that their thoughts lack depth or consequence. Some are freewheeling and unrestrained, others require discipline and structure. Ah, but as time passes, as available days compress and the game is played on a tighter field, those who are reticent introverts face a choice—either reveal whatever is contained within, whether worthy or not, or remain forever silent. Let the soul challenge the world or admit defeat before the battle is even waged.

This, then, is my contribution to the chronicles of those who elect to disgorge in their waning years. Unless I say otherwise, all is original—photos, poems, sayings, novels and writings created in privacy and only now, through this medium, inflicted upon an unsuspecting populace. Perhaps you’ll consider my offerings absurd, perhaps meaningful, perhaps pure vomitus, perhaps substantive. Here’s hoping you find something of value.

Warning, I suffer depression and have a bit of the Irish in me. This means that I see things dark. Thoughts and ideas take on a tint of melancholy. Writing is my release from this sense of despair. Put it down on paper and make it a little less in the soul. Lament aloud the meaningless of life and the inevitability of death so that perhaps those boogiemen will have less power and become diminished by exposure. Allow words to flaunt my continued existence and challenge what awaits in the shadows.  I try the lighthearted approach but always return to my bleak essence. If such is not to your liking, I understand.