Wisdom of words.

Anyone who tells you they have nothing to hide certainly has something to hide.

There has been an influx of peering into my world. Some of it uninvited, some of it broadcasted from the mountaintops. I really hope I'm worth all that effort. There's a chance that things could turn out peculiar in an effort to maintain sanity, but who's to say, ya dig?

So, my little skybird, if I may be vindictive if only on your behalf: this world belongs to me. Believe what you choose to, because I create quite a bit of my own fiction. This space began as a sub-let of a story I wrote, titled 'True stories and other lies I tell myself.' This world here my friend, this world belongs to me-visit all you like but don't for one moment claim any ownership and understanding of my art or craft. Because one man can look through telescope, it doesn't mean he can decipher what's on the other side of his neighbor's wall.

Yes, some things do really happen, but reality can be found as easily in dreams as in flesh.

We are terribly unique creatures, in that we can bend the world to fit our perception. This wonderful and awesome ability does not belong to any but mankind on this marble. To a dolphin, one bit of sea is not theirs, to a skunk, your trashcan is fair game. Ownership of situations and knowledge of the world is a terrifying illusion, brought about only because we all agree on a majority basis that what is, is.

Your little Kardiff has nothing to hide.

I, dear self, in this grizzly machination, prefer to hide in plain sight.