hilbyguy

Paolo waited with a pounding heart in his ears. This was it: lose his job or make a living wage. Either would be better. The union leader yipped the signal and they streamed out the door. Paolo would not

I basically accomplished my goals this week. I grinded out a pack's worth of starbits and got these: It's a nice new rare that got me into the next tier of Fans. I also got my i6 Midrange Acoustic Guitar

There's this 2 hour and 20 minute video slamming the crypto space. It has millions upon millions of views. It's called "Line Goes Up - The Problem with NFTs." But make no mistake, it's a two-hour

It's hard to believe only one week has passed since my last journal entry. I've gone up two missions on the Local Gig Circuit (though I still haven't broken down and gotten the i6 guitar to run them).

The notebook I fabricated turned to speculation of reality. Sure, but still not sure if dreams of paintings count as artistic inventions or fantastic illusions. It's me: a shout from internal spaces. Hush

It's kind of a funny story. Those words echoed in my head as I tried to sleep. They were her last words to me. I had no idea that horrific accident would happen just 14 hours later. She had rushed off

I never thought I'd be writing this post. When I first came to Hive, I saw a bunch of Rising Star posts, and I didn't get. I'm a music lover, but something about the game didn't appeal to me. It took months

In today's scene, the main character is in a good mood from reading and nice weather and wants to socialize. But when he passes someone and tries to get them into a conversation, the person has no interest.

Not a sanctuary or support— only bland, like old photographs: sun glaring the surface. The house is a lot quieter since they left. In fact, charcoal drawings remain upon the table, a success. A smoldering

It's said that love is patient. We wait for the test results together, a sterile and cold room full of sadness and regret. Our hands grip as we read each other's thoughts. Love is not kind. It rips at

Another week, more dCity. Technically, it's been 2 weeks since I wrote my introduction to dCity post. It's been a strange ride so far. Everything keeps shifting and so plans I had get ruined or made much

A collection of my microfiction stories.

On page as fresh a winter's breeze is found It seeps inside a mind through strange facades Harsh truths and prophecy sing kind ballade A book is more than symbols tightly bound. The screams adjoin a crowd

I used to make fun of my mother for it, seeming like a quaint housewife task from the 50's. But now that sniping sound brings me back my childhood kitchen table. A lost job in the pandemic and I cut those

As I get older, I look for deeper and more abstract literature to read. I assume this is cyclical and one day I'll return to the classic stories, but right now I want bizarre things that make me think

Today, we have another two part quote. These sentences are so long and full of detail that parts must be skipped and even broken apart to fully digest and respond to it properly. In this scene, M. Vinteuil's

Upon that time next to a dock lonely tourists pester islanders. Kids outside, in dirty clothes bothering no one. Ocean waves crashing and cracking yellow sand to muck. A photo lost inside memories. Struggling

I often wonder what the last color she saw was--that girl from my childhood I only heard about in passing, adults whispering the rumor. Was it the gray bridge as she jumped or the blue of the tumbling

As usual, Proust takes a concept that is unimaginable and describes it with delicacy and awe. On page 156 of Swann's Way: "The process which had begun in her--and in her a little earlier only than

I saw @poggersdude did a first week in dCity post, and I also started this week. So I was inspired to give my lessons learned. I've been watching this game from a distance for quite some time and never