Twilight

Twilight

Fifty-two. It’s not young; it’s not old. It’s kind-of in the middle between zero and one hundred four. And today, it feels like 86 or so. Seriously. My right bicept hurts. I don’t even know why. Some nerve is pinching somewhere, and the pain...
Bad Art

Bad Art

It seems that the older I get, the more I want to try new things. And it’s rather scary. After all, my desire to draw and paint doesn’t magically grant me special artistic powers that haven’t yet appeared in the past fifty-two years of life. My wish...