Hello World (gang), It’s me, Tim, your boy. Coming at you with a lightning bolt blog that will leave you the on edge of your toilet seat. Unedited, except for the parts that I deleted.

I gather by now that you (the gang) realize my introductions are for humor purposes. I read once that you should never point out when you’re joking—but just this once. My introductions are as awkward as complaining to the person standing next to you in line at the grocery store.

“This is the only Walmart that I’ve been to that has 20 lanes and only two of them open—I mean, come on, it’s Friday!”

These were the words uttered to me by a very strange man. It was all I could do to nod in agreement while searching for something to look distracted by. Evidently my phone wasn’t enough. I picked up a bag of Cardi B’s BBQ RAP SNACKS and gazed in amazement.

This is the world that we live in. This is our reality. Everyone here in Kendallville is prepping for the impending snow storm by stuffing their carts with enough toilet paper and pork rinds to ride out the rest of the winter—high on the hog as it were.

I push a broken cart through the store. Every turn of the wheel produces a loud crashing noise. Crash, Crash, Crash, as I move down the aisles. Crash, Crash, Crash, like a drum symbol. I realize how quiet all the other carts are. Crash, Crash, Crash—I dodge a very sad looking woman who is handing out free samples of mouth wash. Crash, Crash, Crash—a foreign man asks me where the towels are by holding up a stack of dish cloths and saying, “where are these but bigger?”. Crash, Crash, Crash—a gaggle of disheveled women wearing house slippers paw at a box of snack cakes. Crash, Crash, Crash, the cashier is perplexed by my Heineken before realizing it does not contain alcohol. Crash, Crash, Crash.

This is why I believe one of the best modes of being is that of the artist. When I’m not snapping photos of interesting things, I’m paying attention to my surroundings—taking notes on everything strange in my life. I mean, isn’t that the point? To be aware? To be woke, as it were. Life is weird. It’s sad, it’s funny, it’s ironic. Life is horrible and amazing, all at the same time. Maybe this is just my way of seeing the things.

A very wise mailman once wrote:

Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul. —Charles Bukowski 

I am in another dimension. I am writing you from a graveyard place in my mind. I am collecting portraits and vignettes. My currency is the soul and if I am diligent in my note taking, I too can live high on the hog.

—T