People Who Prefer Backroads Do Best
Not too many have the nerve to live the kind of life that makes big dreams into realities to share.
Friday, June 05, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
The Friday freeway traffic, the eager chimes of robins, of sparrows, a blue jay at dawn.
Every morning The Sun paints with a new palette of color. Have you noticed? Candle light isn't a light bulb's consistency. The shine from our star is never the same fire twice.
Sunlight changes in unmeasured ways the colors of the world.
A celestial artist paints a new masterpiece each turn of our planet's sphere called: This Day.
How's your piece of the painting, your life?
...
Back to slow poetic morning thoughts in a shock obsessed world.
Thanks for joining me.
Artists, visionaries, free-thinkers, new-thinkers are the only force to ever make a lasting change in the world.
It requires consideration and long hours in quiet reflection to gather and make sense of the dreams necessary to move humanity forward.
Not too many have the nerve to live the kind of life that makes big dreams into realities to share.
People who prefer backroads do best.
Go, go, go.
Done, done, done.
Do, do, do.
Shouts the highway.
Staccato tasks.
Short quick quippy checklists checked.
No time for reflection.
Bottle of Xanax on the nightstand lives.
The human race isn't one that's run; it's a story shared.
How's your story?
...
Transition Day today; the air breathes change.
Back to work on The Epic: Colore. When and how often to release it nags on me.
The idea now is to let New-New Hampshire gain traction before releasing much, if any, more.
By the way, I placed NNH on the Kindle Store yesterday. It will be available for purchase today or tomorrow.
I'll place a link to it on Wonder Fell soon.
Thanks for reading.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🌑new_moon
Archaic Slab
A Poetic Act
Someone's gotta feed AI.
Thursday, June 04, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
"I write, I right, I wright; I make convenient puns."
-Wynn, +he Ghos+
A motto with the sunrise. Thanks for joining me.
The Writer and The Reader relationship is a magical one.
The Writer casts a spell, etches it out in symbols. The one ingredient necessary to invoke the magic is The Reader's attention.
Thanks for making magic with me. O/
Wonder Fell is a story. What you read is the tale of the record of a poet's thoughts as the sun rises.
Everyday.
"Snooze, where's the shock and sensationalism?"
-Not a Reader of Wonder Fell
"In Hollywood and The Modern American Press. How's that working for you?"
-Author of Wonder Fell Whose Favorite Readers Nod in Agreement with This Quote
What's Wonder Fell? It's what's missing. Consideration, wonder, awe, wonder!
My motivations for making and keeping this journal are threefold:
One: I believe these words can help and it would be selfish of me to hoard them considering the state of our Country's spirit.
Two: I love to write and work at it and believe we should do what we love no matter what it takes.
Three: I want to define what the word Beautiful is all about. Not cosmetics or looking pretty, the quality of every sunrise and some works of Art.
Beauty is a tangible human experience, like Love, and it's gone undefined.
There's no Scientific way to quantify it.
Beauty needs people like me to give it shape so more people can know it.
It's what a Poet is for: To give words to previously unsayable things.
Every new word made is a poetic act.
Every new thought and dream shared is a poet at work.
Someone's gotta feed AI.
"Make it new."
-Every Artist's Anthem
"Feed me, Artists."
-Every Large Language Model in the Foreseeable Future.
...
The site design updated yesterday.
With all the flash make-me-look-like-a-billboard webpages out there, my first inclination was to match the sentiment. But Wonder Fell is about words.
So the site now looks like a bunch of book pages dressed in binary light.
I don't plan on stopping; I plan on living for quite a long time.
So, Welcome to: Wynn's Own Large Language Model of Wordly Art
Take a look around, tags abound.
Brave souls who love to read... chronologically is a thing.
So is a thank you very much for reading, for making magic with me.
Literally.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🩰ballet shoes
Archaic Slab
Let's Discuss Algorithms
There's a point to be made, a cautionary tale to be told.
Wednesday, June 03, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Peaceful, steady dawn, the volume on today is set to easy listening.
Something I've been doing with Wonder Fell I haven't mentioned yet because not bringing it up is part of the point:
Let's discuss algorithms:
There's a point to be made, a cautionary tale to be told.
So many good intentioned creatives now spend time studying SEO patterns and the like when they could be making Art to share.
This is not all right with me.
Wonder Fell is, right now, showcasing the hazards of relying on algorithms.
Please take a moment, read this poem, and return to this post.
The 51st State has been published and available on X, Instagram, Facebook, Threads, Stubstack, Medium, and Bluesky for years.
With zero response.
Poetry and Art transcend what algorithms are for.
Wonder Fell is full of patriotic and poetic words of hope and healing for my Country in turmoil. Been here for years and advertised on most major social media platforms.
At present, I have more than three times as many readers in China than I do in The United States.
How is America kept from my words of hope while China enjoys them?
Our algorithms.
The good people of The Far East are just enjoying my humble wit, humor, and poetic ways.
The good people of America are drowning in a sea of bad selected for you by an algorithm news.
With all humility in mind, I've got a degree in Literature, over a quarter of a century worth of daily writing practice, and over four decades born and raised in The United States; I know a lot of Americans want to read my work.
Someone should tell the algorithms.
When we automate language evaluation to what computers can do, we're confined by machines. The human heart is left out of the assessment of value.
America if you're wondering where our National sense of compassion went: Now you know. Our algorithms can't interpret our metaphorical hearts.
Emotive understanding cannot fit in the walls of coded binary light. But it can be shared through words.
We do care about each other America; our algorithms don't. They can only rehash the past.
So if yesterday so many citizens viewed a tragedy online... well the software detects: "People want to see tragedy." And so the state of affairs on Our Country's screens.
I don't blame our software coders; they're not poets. They're out of their element now with AI. Language creation and what words actually do, and are for, is my work.
Feel free to look me up for a consult if you can find me through the algorithmic fog.
The solution comes down to personal responsibility as humanity adjusts to living with the reality of AI.
"Good morning Grok, show me some good news."
-Reader Who Understands Personal Responsibility
"Hey Google, tell me an inspiring story that happened yesterday."
-Reader Helping to Save Modern Civilization
There are plenty of good people doing good things everyday. Show them to yourself.
Our well-being and survival as a race depends on your choice to do so.
You found me. Thanks for reading.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🎐wind_chime
Archaic Slab
What For?
Why sing a song, paint a picture, pen a poem when real estate is so easy to flip and stocks so simple to trade?
Tuesday, June 2, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Thanks for joining me in this experiment of language with the sunrise.
Every morning for the past couple years I wake and write with as much clarity, honesty, and concern... what's on my mind.
Because there's more to language than facts and figures. There's identity and the potential for beauty in every sentence shared.
With so many quick text hellos, so many business get-it-done messages, and AI prompts returned lighting up every screen, I thought a reminder of what language is really for might be of assistance.
To share the experience of being alive is what words are for.
Artificial Intelligence is using a video game to help you cheat on a test.
But Life is not an exam; it's an opportunity to make and know and experience and share beautiful relationships.
Words are more than tabulations; they express experience. We have no better tool for relaying what Life is about than the symbols, sounds, and shapes of language.
Today's sunrise electric blue sky. A slow steady breeze through the green leaves of a successful Spring.
Just as important for Life's success as the healthy shine of the firmament on new foliage is our experience of it. Why else be able to know anything at all if it's not mandatory for Life to endure?
Birds sing in the morning for the same reason dreams want to come true.
Hearts beat for more than Scientific reasons; what's music for?
Your heart is the metronome of your life. Your body is a symphony for your arrangement.
This morning's sky is the definition of blue. How does it matter that I noticed? What compels me to share the seeing with you?
My whole Life was a struggle to share my witness in words with you.
What for?
Why sing a song, paint a picture, pen a poem when real estate is so easy to flip and stocks so simple to trade?
Because I humbly know if so many people could see this morning like I do, so much suffering would end.
And so I write.
Thank you for reading. I do hope these words help you live a better day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🔗link
Archaic Slab
Our Words
We're responsible for everything we write every time someone reads it.
Monday, June 01, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Clouds like filters on photo apps enhance and change the pictures of reality.
Sun rises on an overcast sky, a maybe rain, perhaps blue sky weather forecast.
A cool easy breeze, the fully green leafed oak branches wave a gentle good morning.
Wonder Fell rolls on. Thanks for the company of your consideration.
The first day of June, Spring relaxes into Summer.
Today wants something new, that package with the two to six week delivery estimate.
Will it arrive today?
That's the feel in today's sunrise.
...
Do you remember when we used to talk to each other?
If you were born before the turn of the millennia you do.
Texting took the place of talking; there are consequences.
Our understanding of the powers of the written word are still juvenile.
Speech is ephemeral; text lasts.
Whatever we type we communicate every time it's read.
If you had a bad day two years ago and posted online about it, you're having a bad day now for the reader who just discovered the post.
Our words define us. All text is dead until it's read. Then, it returns to life. We're responsible for everything we write every time someone reads it.
Speech is a one time thing unless it's recorded. Then the rules of text apply to it as well.
Everything we see and hear online is a series of coded language: words translate every image and sound we share online. Every message you text a friend is filtered and translated first, as a rule, just so it can reach them.
I wonder about the purity of communication.
How does that extra step affect the message sent and received.
Ideally the experience of text messaging ought to be like passing notes in a classroom.
It's the social media bit that bothers the world at present. People treat the written word on social media apps like it's only a tool to decorate billboards. So many on social media sites these days consider language as only a means to advertise themselves.
Flashing Vegas-like neon billboards rule the social media sphere at present.
But the written word does more than sell, it also shows wonder, sings beauty.
I prefer the latter two.
If you've read this far, so do you.
The excitement of the newness of Internet communication caused a spectacle of daily firework shows.
Quick, oohs and ahs, shock treatments for a dulled by the sameness of Scientific thought world.
But the greatest firework ever lit is a star called The Sun. The show happens once a day, is the reason for day at all, for Life at all, for you at all. That show called: The Sunrise.
I celebrate it every morning here. A thank you note to whoever started that celestial firework show, whoever lit the Big that went Bang.
Thank you, as always, for reading.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🏷️label
Archaic Slab
Happy Blue Moon Day
A good day for a miracle.
Sunday, May 31, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
When something rare but worthy of note occurs we say: "It only happens once in a blue moon."
Today is a day for rare worthwhile things. Happy Blue Moon Day.
A good day for a miracle. Hope one finds you. Hope you're brave enough and your thoughts are unscattered enough to recognize it.
Pull yourself together. Dust yourself off. You're awesome. You're alive.
What's up with that?
Something made a rather Big Bang a longtime ago and now everyone wants to fall in love.
Huh?
See, you're a miracle.
Talk on The Moon and miracles as The Sun rises...
A cool blue sky Spring day. Sparrows and grackles forage through leaves and twigs, a trip to the hardware store to gather supplies to build their nests.
What are you building, artists? The world could use your dreams right now.
...
Getting the words right... my Life's work.
The World is a living changing thing; Life breathes alive. And so, the right words change and grow to reflect the experience.
We grow with the globe, spin the tales of our lives from the pictures and sensations our star allows.
In the same fashion, The World orbits The Sun and builds her nights on the light each day provides.
We lost wonder; I found it. I thought you'd like to know.
Now you know.
Take care, enjoy your blue moon miracle and thanks for reading.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🗺️world_map
Archaic Slab
Wonder Fell Isn't Difficult to Find
All you need is to be able to look past spectacle and have a strong belief in the power of words.
Saturday, May 30, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Every morning: You, me, a cup of tea, and the sunrise.
New thoughts from this Living Large Language Model Poet, Wynn.
What's on Wonder Fell AI bots can never offer: Something new... a new way to see.
Perhaps, if you consider yourself the creative type (and you really should it's a great way to live) you might find some comfort or inspiration here.
Wonder Fell isn't difficult to find. All you need is to be able to look past spectacle and have a strong belief in the power of words.
Glad you can, glad you do, glad you decided to join me here. Let's keep the wonder going...
...
Sun shows a single cloud for a sky. Wind gusts pollen and seeds from tree limbs. Autumn's stubborn leaves that survived the winter finally shake and fall.
A shorter entry today. There's the distribution of New-New Hampshire to work on.
Wonder Fell, this journal, will always be free; but a poet has to eat.
It will be interesting to see people's response to the anthology during these disjointed times.
The reaction will be another thing to write with the sunrise.
Thanks for reading. If you're interested in New-New Hampshire, best read it now as it heads for more formal publication soon.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: ✌️v
Archaic Slab
Dog. Hat. Raincoat.
All reading is an act of resurrection.
Friday, May 29, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Words and what they're for. My Life's purpose and what Wonder Fell is all about.
I sit everyday with the sunrise and share my morning thoughts with the world to remind us all what words are for and are.
Sentences are more than cold dead facts for characters in a video game called AI. Language is the living breathing story of creation. Life isn't dead yet; language grows and goes on.
Poets pride ourselves on a conciseness of language. More important than brevity to the success of our work is the form of each poem.
What to write to remind people the true power of words in AI's infancy?
A poet's own Large Language Model of words with every sunrise.
There's no flash here, no sensationalism; just words and what you bring to them as you read.
All reading is an act of resurrection.
Thanks for bringing these words to life again.
Your eyes are like suns pouring the light of the colors of Imagination into these words as you read.
Dog. Hat. Raincoat.
See? You saw them. Somehow, with some ancient magic, you saw them.
Wonder how you did.
...
Colore continues.
Interesting what happens when you take on a project as large as Colore. There is no physical way to sit down and write the whole thing. So... you have to pace yourself and know what comes next.
I took time to get better acquainted with The World of Colore itself. World building, as us fantasy nerds call it.
See the maps in any version of any of The Lord of the Rings series for further explanation.
So an introduction: Into the World of Colore, I'll work on today.
Thanks for reading.
Your Friendly Nation-hood Ghost,
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🐣hatching_chick
Archaic Slab
