On The Name, Blog and Expectations

     Hello, my name is Nemo Skunkfeet. My real name is not Nemo Skunkfeet, but in this world somedays it feels as nice a name as the one people know me by. Nemo in Latin translates to Nobody or Noone, Now I think it's funny there's a whole movie about finding Nemo, well here he is, me, at least here. Truly though, I find it fitting to be some what of a no-one online considering the sheer volume of people known before the internet and even now of who's name who would know and so on. Sure in life I have my connections, people know my name and I know their's; there's even things I like to do that with one less person it wouldn't be much of an event at all, so to say no-one went would be to say it didn't happen at all! Kidding aside I couldn't think of a more proper, common pseudonym like Alexander Supertramp, Robert Galbraith, although not to leave out Lemony Snicket, (which to me does not sound much like a common name). Skunkfeet because I've had some really smelly feet. Washing dishes to soak my shoes, being homeless briefly with the same two socks to just keep wearing, walking hiking, biking and a few days of trench foot so bad when I went to clip my toenails to keep walking I stopped to clean between my toes and it was not dirt I removed, but layers of skin with each wipe. I blinked, closed my eyes and calmed my stomach before gingerly rolling my sock back over the top of my foot with a silent plea to the sky above. I sometimes think of myself with hobbit qualities, namely a stripe of hair ornamenting the top of my feet. 

    I do not own a car. I did briefly for maybe a year or less, I lived in for a few months with a handmade shelter in the bed of a truck, it was a flat bed with lids to cupboards containing clothes, cooking supplies, stationary and gadgets and a cutout for a 48 liter cooler. I could sit in it as I arched the roof to create an ellipse from the sides to the peak, almost resembling a wagon going West. Not to say it was crammed but there was no standing room, and it gave me a short experience as to what life may have been like in a one room, hand-tool crafted only abode. I had to leave it with a friend when the pandemic began, but anyway it's a story and I don't think I will be acquiring another car anytime soon.

    Without a car I find myself: the challenge, the remarks, along with ego and pride, mostly the exposure. Walking or cycling everywhere really begins to form rings of journeys and distance willing to travel. The layout of surroundings will fall away to expose the Earth buried under decades of human effort. Sometimes complimenting each other, sometimes leering on the fragile self I have sheltered within and occasionally infuriating towards a myriad mix of influences that have such age and confused web it's unsure, uncanny and reeling to think of a future with less traffic, noise, and people just by the scale at which materials will last and their sheer height comparatively to a sitting room only or one room shelter, quite imposing. Of course buildings have purpose and there design lends to that purpose as well, so intuitively things were made to effect the mind and provide for those within however long they may have use. 

    Often when I was younger I considered a journal, nowadays when I do it's just mostly shopping lists. I don't know why I would consider having a journal as a child; I was never up to much some days staring at the sky letting the day go by. I'm a bit of a Romantic, but every day getting more Realist. When I was a boy I'd lay on the ground and stare at the sky watching the focus of my eyes pull and push the clouds. Either down at the field of the local elementary school that I didn't have the privilege of attending, other days bored out of mind the center of the pussy willow waiting for suburb to go somewhere rather than just be cut through. It's strange the layout of things. Some places it's a grid built from a center and just slowly added lane by lane as there were possibilities for another lane and then there's nowadays where a golf course here, a strip mall there, a fountain, police station, and school and boom! you're ready to go; have just about a town and municipality on your hands. I'll be returning to this many times, as place of our horizons surrounds the inwards of our skulls like sitting with the snow-globe around us rather than ever looking at or down upon. Anyway, not much to a journal besides a sentimental box that gets weirder and odder to keep as I age, so here's my journal for myself finally, but as writing goes it's hardly more than a shopping list if no one else reads it, And if you really read into it, shopping lists sometimes can be quite indecipherable and depending on the items people see it all the same in time.

    Some of these things I hope to return to and speak more of in coming posts. To essay in French is to try. Here I am going to try to write to you, to myself, and to those that it may concern. I hope to hold a dialogue, approach a discussion, organize my own digesting information and also season the information out there that we all have access to, but could never possibly absorb all of it. I know some of my opinions are not entirely developed nor all of my experiences turned stories finished. I'd like to tell you some stories, share some experience and lessons learned and most of all I will try to share this with you a couple to few times a month. Because of the Pseudonym I will be staying anonymous and do my darnedest to avoid self-promotion. I certainly look for entertainment beyond myself and hope that you do too, albeit I will be putting forth honest effort towards developing a blog that reads pleasantly and you like. Please tell me your thoughts, suggestions, and edits. I may not always write it how you want, expect, or have heard before, if you have that much to say I encourage you to start you own blog, but I do want someone to read this and I want them to feel the better for it too.