I am at war with the Facebook algorithm. I have tried everything to be able to see my conservative friends news feeds. The algorithm knows I am a liberal, and unless I actually search up their name, I never see them in my newsfeed. I was very political on Facebook when the former guy was running for re-election. I don’t like him very much. But it’s over. It would be nice to once in awhile see my friends that voted for him in my news feed. It seems like the only one that is taking this personally is the Facebook algorithm! So I write this blog today to let my conservative friends know that I love them. That I miss pictures of their animals. I miss pictures of their kids. Maybe the problem with the algorithm is that, it is not a human being. A human being would know that we love each other no matter what our political backgrounds are. And it is driving me to not be on Facebook very much. How do you fight against a formula? It’s math. I can’t fight against mathematics. But I truly believe if there was a human behind that algorithm I would see more of my friends.


It’s supposed to be a book with many faces.

With friends and family from many places.

It will keep you connected, yes it will.

But don’t you dare use the word kill!

They will put you in Facebook jail.

Where you don’t get any hugs or kisses or even mail!

I am done with their crap I’m going over to WordPress.

Social media that never puts me in lockdown, never causes distress!

So I’m writing a little poem about my pissed off affair

My friends and followers I miss with a sad little care

But I must stay true, to who I am.

Facebook has become more powerful then Uncle Sam!

When they get you down, come on over to WordPress.

There is a lot more love, inspiration, and no drama mess.

Please never let Facebook buy you my dear WordPress, it would break my heart.

I love how you bring us together, not tear us apart

There is a lot of Madness going on with Facebook Instagram, what a freaking mess.

When that stuff gets you down, come on over here to WordPress.


Once upon a time in a place and a time not too far away from now, there was a family of three with beautiful wings. And they flew here and there and everywhere, until one day.

The Mamas Wings got clipped. But Daddy’s Wings and baby wings were still fine. So they still went here and there and everywhere. But mama no longer did. Mama had to find something else to do. Flight was no longer possible. So she thought, and she thought, and she thought some more. What can one do without wings?

So she started to write. Sometimes the pages flew off the screen. Sometimes it took her more than a day to write one sentence. But at least she had something to do, so she did not think so much that she has lost her ability to fly.

The baby was no longer a baby. And she did not remember that the mother could ever fly. And it made her so forlorn. Where Once Upon a Time she flew everywhere with her. All she wanted to do is play with her mother. her mother could no longer play in the Wind. It is hard to explain to a child, that once you were like them. But now you are not. And you will never have Wings again.

One day she will show her what she has written. She will show her that there is more to her than flight. But when you are a child, all that matters is to your wings.

And the mother knew this. So she was content letting the father and the baby go here and there and everywhere without her. So she was often alone. With her thoughts. With her written word. That she very seldom showed people. Because they are words for her. To help her from going crazy. Because it’s hard to sit knowing you once were able to fly. And instead of feeling sorry for herself she decided to write a story.

Knowing that she would probably never show this story to anyone, she decided to write about herself. And how she lost her wings. And how once she went here and there and everywhere. And how lonely it is being in a family of three when you really know deep down you are in the family of one. And one is the loneliest number.

So in her state of Solitude oh, she explained to the pages how she lost her wings. It was not her fault. These things do happen. When we least expect them. So we need to be grateful before we lose our wings.

And she knows one day her baby will grow up and will appreciate all the love she’s given her without her wings. She knows she cannot fly here and there and everywhere but her love still goes with her.

So she write this oh, and she must remember, that although she is always alone she is never alone. For her love goes here and there and everywhere.

What is the moral of the story? I think you know. Tell your wings you love them, because they take you here and there and everywhere, and you never know when you might lose them.

Happy Independence Day

Happy Independence Day, let’s blow some s*** up.

Happy Fourth of July. Put some beer in your cup.

Happy Independence Day, be grateful the Redcoats are not coming.

Happy Fourth of July. If you’re quiet you can hear the drums drumming.

Happy Independence Day. The drums now lead you to firework, not war.

Happy Fourth of July. Red white and blue popsicles and flags are in store!

Happy Independence Day. Covid-19 is leaving, let’s party!

Happy Fourth of July, get your vaccine and Don’t Be Tardy.

Happy Independence Day oh, hurry, don’t be late!

Happy Fourth of July. I have a feeling this year it will be great ️ 💙 ❤️


Sitting alone. Ever alone. Staring out into that endless void of contemplation. Knowing that you are completely helpless alone. Ever alone. And being one with the loneliness, leaves you to sit in this shell of emptiness, ever reaching, ever hoping, never knowing.

Thoughts stretch out across the infinit chasm that is your mind. Wondering if in this forever state of Solitude, if others have traveled into the realm of the same loneliness, and if so, are we truly ever alone?

One cannot help but dwell upon this narcissistic need to have thoughts that are completely of One’s Own doing. But if every thought has been thought before, one can never truly be alone, even amidst the empty loneliness that is your room. Your contemplation begins maddeningly to unravel. In the simplest sense, I think therefore I am, can never be achieved, knowing that the thought has been thought by someone else.

Sitting alone. Ever alone. Now drawing upon the conclusion that one is never truly alone, if one’s thoughts have been thought before, you realize the loneliness you feel has been perfected by so many. Stretching deep into that bottomless void you can never achieve the contemplation you desire. Knowing that your thoughts are not your own, knowing that I think therefore I am, has been found to be invalid, do you continue contemplating?

Or do you cease, give up, finding there to be no point even to put your words down on paper. You are left with an emptiness like you have never felt before. And you realize that you are truly, alone. Ever alone.