I’ve been stalking Carnita because she’s practically famous for her new porn travelogue and it kills me.
It’s Christmas Day, my 52nd Wednesday post for 2019. That was my goal, and I did it, so I’m feeling good. Not that it was easy. I made quite a few mistakes. Maybe you noticed.
Every day we all do it together because we’re all part of the same system. Civilization is a group effort. I couldn’t be a writer without you.
I ask myself, why am I not also a writer of erotica of the sort people pay for, and read aloud to their partner between the sheets and sleep?
They say a dog’s nose inhales information the way people read. So when I see Moon sniffing, I figure he’s perusing the books of other dogs.
It took a while for me to get used to posting pictures of myself, but I quickly learned that people will scroll past blocks of text. I’m a writer. I don’t exist if you don’t read me.
Life meanders politely, eyes meet, pleasantries are exchanged, civilization is tamped down to a well worn path. Odors rise unremarked. No fart jokes in a church basement, nothing obtrusive. Just adults mixed with sugar.