Going to see Phish in LA this Sunday for my birthday 🤙✌️

Replenishing electrolytes and staying hydrated are like the basics of feeling well on an average day

How in the Sam F do you change the banner pic? I’ll figure it out.

Wondering if a novel with controversial issue at its core (a vigilante thriller) could be turned into an NFT? Seems like it could generate multiple revenue streams that could be reintegrated into the NFT: book sales, the film or series version, a video game, graphic novel, merchandise. 🤔 Anyone have a view on this? Trading content and culture rather than merely the trends around an abstraction the value for which rises and falls rather whimsically? Content would retain its value more being more inherent to production. I write fiction so I’m learning and asking questions.

Nietzsche is head of HR

Titles to my novels: The Faith of the Ugly (unpublished) Good Man, Good Woman (published) No Winter Lasts Forever (published) Until Morning Comes (published) Pale Song (unfinished) Alpha Lake (unfinished) The Never Not Yes (in production) If interested in any of the above published titles, please click the Amazon link to my sales page. I am an artist in a dying field, admittedly, but my contention is people don’t read anymore because there’s nothing contemporaneous that’s good enough to be read. I’m consistently told in person and in reviews that my books, if they engaged, are page-turners. I’ve been explicitly told by the publishing sector that “white men shouldn’t bother”. We all know this is the deal, but it makes finding readers difficult, and I must continually present myself on platforms though I recognize its likely futility. If you used to love reading and like well-constructed, well-paced stories that take on some of the serious issues in our culture, the kinds of issues mainstream storytellers either fear or are shooed away from, then you might click that link in the bio—Thanks! 🤙

THE NEVER NOT YES Part One DECLINE Prelude Energy stopped that summer. It was on-and-off, at first. A few minutes here and there. Then hours. Whole days. Couple weeks. We sweat like rigged-up field horses. It came on once more for 48 consecutive hours, and we thought we were saved. But then it stopped. For good. Connection to the internet was like some futuristic thing. Police station and public library had it spotty, I guess, but no one else. At least in our neck. That’s when Gordon Pickford grabbed his shotgun, went out back to his tool shed, and blew his brains out all over the chicken coop. Some people thought it was dramatic, cowardly. They said the season would soon change and the temperature drop. That he should’ve held out. What with the two years of lockdowns from the virus and now the power trouble, it didn’t surprise me. He wasn’t wrong in what he thought lay ahead, just wrong to go out like that and leave his family all alone. He knew what most people had brushed off, them saying we’d done it before. The human race had done it, made-do without electricity, but none of us had. That might as well’ve been ancient history. It was going to be tough. And not only was it tougher than that, it was brutal. Gordon Pickford knew that. And those were just the early days . . .

Would someone read a book on here in sections?

Any maverick filmmakers on here looking to take on the more pressing issues? NO WINTER LASTS FOREVER “In the wake of a high school massacre, a copycat shooter begins to stalk otherwise sleepy Franklin, Missouri, further traumatizing the community. Disturbed by these crimes, logistics manager, Jackson Warner finds his way into an illicit chatroom ‘happydayz,’ dedicated to glorifying the killers. Jackson fixates on the young men’s disregard for life and suspects the copycat is among them. In his frenzy, will he mistake a troubled youth for a killer?”

Hello Nostr Damus