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I used to work with modeling in my early teen years. I began writing poetry around 18 and I really came into it around 19. I also began drawing around 20, tracing mostly until someone asked me to draw something I didn't have a reference picture for and then I realized I could free hand. I've done a few caricatures and some original art designs but I really came into my true passion when someone challenged me to 3D art form. I've made roughly 18 mech-toy concepts, but never really stepped into the toy market. I've made a few board game prototypes but was never really confident in my rudimentary work. I intend to get a 3D printer one day and make my own board game line, perhaps.
I wrote a book to test that avenue of revenue, and I have poetry posted on Facebook and other web platforms.
I just really enjoy bringing happiness to others. I might not be saving the world, but at least I can bring a few smiles to it.
Wealth provided by the mineral rich soil of the land doesn't cross Jimmy's mind as he works in his mother's garden. It was her health that furrowed his brow. She had fallen ill months ago, becoming bed ridden shortly thereafter. She was a very closed off person, an introvert one might say; Jimmy had only known her to be stern and reclusive, even in his own upbringing. Jimmy had not seen his mother past his 18th birthday, shortly after his father's passing. Jimmy went on to become an entrepreneur, trying his hand at one business venture after another. He failed at every avenue, stocks yielding low and Covid laying him lower. However, he lived his life his way, without the yoke laid upon him by the hands of others. Life was hard, but he was still breathing. He had not heard from his mother since reaching adulthood, and his immediate exodus from her domicile; although he had not sought her out either. It came as a surprise to him when a man claiming to be her physician called him and said Jimmy's mother had fallen ill, that she wanted him to come tend to her garden until she got better. Jimmy's mother was very protective of "HER" garden. It was the one thing she truly cared for… "more than me even," he mused. She did not deserve respect, but Jimmy's father instilled a very strong ethical will within Jimmy. He did as he was asked. Jimmy went to his mother's home every day to tend to her garden. He would garden for over an hour then leave. He never went into her home. She never called on him or asked to see him, nor did he to her. This carried on for months, Jimmy a man of his word and a good son… for his "father's sake" Jimmy would tell himself. One afternoon, Jimmy pulled into the driveway of his mother's home to see an ambulance outside along the street. It was beginning to pull away… no flashing lights… no sirens. An old man in a black suit with greying black hair approached Jimmy with a solemn expression. "Jimmy, I take it?" The voice of his mother's physician. "I regret to inform you, but your mother has passed away." Jimmy stared at the man for a moment then turned coldly to walk to the garden. As he went to where he usually begins his tending, he noticed a mound of freshly turned soil. Jimmy kneeled down and shifted the soil to find a metal box. He looked at the physician who smiled and walked away. Jimmy opened the box to find an envelope inside. Within the envelope were two sheets of paper. Lettering upon the first read: "I'm sorry, I love you." A Deed to the home was signed over to Jimmy. Pictures were in there too, pictures of Jimmy throughout his life…past to present. His mother was always there, loving him the only way she knew how… from afar. (Image courtesy of Chris Yang unsplash.com)
"Hope's Walk" I am here alone to the dark of a desolate beaten path, often traveled and packed by the weary tread of wayward soles. The path of heartbreak, the path of shame, a path so broken not cared to name. Time a wisp to lapse, pain no stranger to drive me through memories looked upon as wasted endeavors. Memories that do bring joy that fades to strife, and comfort that bleeds into remorse. I'm shut out and shut off from the world around me, portals closed and electric off, I peer through the darkness to shout against a storm of internal anguish. My soul a blackened lit candle suffering a tumultuous gale of doubt and ridicule. I strive to yield not to the hurricane of depression derived from what is and what may be. I struggle to lift myself from the well of the fallen to set my mind free, free from the torment, from the turbulent turmoil that festers within me. Faith, I keep, in me, my spirit, my light within. I will walk this weight weathered path that stretches before me, ever optimistic that my second chance will find me... or I... find my second chance. (Image courtesy of www.freepik.com)