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I can't write the great English novels, the 500-page PhD Thesis, I most likely couldn't even pump a children's book out of me, what would Spot do after his day at the beach?
However, in this time of hyper-selling yourself, where every website is now an extension of LinkedIn, where you are expected to put your social media on your resume, I wanted a place to write, somewhere I knew it could be read but like a lot of things without state or company backing, would sit collecting digital spider webs. But these would be my spider webs, a web of my own making. If it's needed to say, it would not be best to come here.
I know I don’t know anything about it. No matter how many PDFs I buy from my local influencer of a $99.99 course, (if you do not know what I mean, reply to one of those “hey you” messages from old high school people who most likely bullied you/us).
I know I cannot escape this bind of the never-ending catch and release of my monetary value, and that the hippies taking in mushrooms in my local mountains will tell me otherwise while they steal from my backpack. So, I will write here for no money, no fame, just to scream out into the void hoping that the void doesn't ask for my tax file number.