Up until now, I had been writing sonnets and changing their dates only, but not their times.  So whenever I wrote them, they would appear at that time, but at whatever date I set them to appear.

I have decided to change the posts to early morning.  Not at midnight, but sometime very early like 1 or 2 or 3am.  If I’m posting one on the same day as I’m writing it, I’ll probably leave it as is, but I’m not sure yet.  I think people like regularity.  So If I were following a site like this, I guess I’d like it if I knew around when to check it for new content.

I’m putting them ahead in the rotation, because I like them.  I’m planning for 2 but I may include 3 or more.  “Today’s” sonnet will arrive after that.  I’ll let it drop before I post another.  I like to be ahead a ways; on the other hand, if I get too far ahead, I think I’ll start going back in time in some way.  Perhaps, I’ll add some of the backlog and push the dates of everything else back.  If I really wanted to write two or more a day.  Then I could ultimately push the “start” date of the sonnet page back by years, if I wanted.  That would be something.  It would be as if I had not wasted as much of my life.  That’s something anyone would wish for.  My guess now, though, is that it will happen some, but not religiously.  Although one never knows.

I guess not

Not exactly teen, but pretty angsty.  A word or two changed from the original.  I’m more picky these days.  But mostly unchanged from then.

I wrote about one thing, but now it seems it was about two, I think. What a quite strange day this has been for one to mourn. I have everything. Even still, I mourn. I know we are in danger, but no one can see. Synchronicity. It goes on all around me. I watch it happen. I feel it moving through my life and other lives. It ticks like a clock.

I wrote about one thing, but now it seems it was about two. How strange. It’s a dark morning. Darker than I’ve ever seen. Black as a dark soul. Dark as death, not night. It’s morning. There’s no sunlight. It’s a dark morning.

I wrote about one thing, but now, it seems, it was about two. It’s dark. I can see a star. That’s the only light I see. It’s not bright enough.

I wrote about one thing, but now, it seems, it was about two. So dark.