I learned one name on the evening news.

Surprisingly, pictures on milk cartons still happen. I recognized somebody and chuckled.

The stretch of I-90 west of Sioux Falls is interesting. It reminds me of movies with signs saying "last chance for gas!" but I guess the midwest figures fuck it, you'll figure it out. Lucky for me, that highway is a helluva place for pretty girls to have a flat.

Youtube has cold-case stuff on familiar faces. I know names from the driver's licenses stashed in my special place.

Sunday School lied. God ain't the only one who makes stars.

I was famous once

a post that got 7 likes

read by Jeff to 53 people

did you fast forward over me

finger scroll past my words

pounded on my keyboard

pain passion prurience

pressing purpose plan

carefully crafted

to catch your eye

press your liking

did you miss me

or never bother

I was famous once

a post that got 7 likes

All I do is write, while I croon to myself softly. My pages a sheet in a bed made of thickets and stone.

How does one become successful? Relatable storytelling? Putting a spinny hat on my pen cap?

I do not like what is acceptable. I do not write romance for cookie cutter families. I can write scripts with the best of them, given the chance: I could write anything.

Give me two words— I swear it, I could make any idea come to life."I'll do it for free!" I shout at every publishing house like my mouth is a turret upon piles of scrapped cover letters and half-hearted portfolios.

I see those without much to tell besides about anatomy of two bodies slapping together in a garbled up piece of fiction id write at twelve with a book deal or two. I see those with millions made passively as they craft artwork in their multimillion dollar homes because they were born to the right people with the right agency.

But alone? I am the daughter of an immigrant. My words lift the women that love women and that is not enough. I give my fingertips to the cages of those starved and bereaved and still, it is not enough. It is appreciated, but it is not gold worthy.

It does not received awards. It does not receive the love the work I could force through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth could. How do I become a writer, when I write what is not in high demand and which won't be seen? Where does one send their writing, where it will have a punctured throat enough to breathe?

Am I to exist in my mind forever?

I look around the room, and I wonder

If everybody here is somebody, somebody

Like a whimper unheard amidst a roaring thunder

I feel I'm a stranger, an absolute nobody.

Just a tiny me is all I ever embody

I feel I'm a stranger, an absolute nobody.

I've worked the days and lived the night

Of this rich, famous, brave new world

Where they ignore me with all their might

But it's not for me. I'm small and unfurled;

A dying, withering bud left to its own folly

Just a tiny me is all I ever embody

I feel I'm a stranger, an absolute nobody.

I am nothing more than a drifter, never around often or longer enough to be known. It’s not that I haven’t tried. Like a moth I am drawn to the bright places that spark my interest, and then, just like the moth, once I reach my destination the spark dies. I want to stay, to grow, to become a part of that light that first called to me, but without that spark it becomes too difficult to stay around those who shine. I let the wind carry me away so I may rekindle my flame away from the effervescent glow of others. Soon I will have strength to visit again and the cycle will start anew.

"Follow me on Snapchat, like my YouTube channel, follow me on TikTok, X, and Instagram." Everyone wants to be famous and many think they are and will proudly tout the number of social media followers they have to prove it. Why? I was recently commuting to work and got behind a vehicle that had all the invites to check them out on multiple social media outlets. Naive me, thought that the vehicle belonged to a business, directing potential customers to their website. However, when I changed lanes and pulled up next to this monument to narcissism on wheels, I didn't see a single logo or other indication that the vehicle had any connection to a business, organization, church, or club. So, the only conclusion that I could draw was the owner of the late model Ford Focus wasn't selling anything and simply promoting themselves.

Even though I don't have any social media accounts, The Prose being the closest thing to social media that I access, I can see that it has its uses. My initial assumption that the Ford Focus that was covered in, "Pay Attention to Me" decals promoting a business or organization was based on the idea that social media provides a way for locals to find resources in the community. However, no business was being promoted that I could see. It was just some wanna-be hoping that someone would click a button on their multiple social media pages so that they could gain enough followers to attract sponsors and get paid to make brain rotting videos about what to buy at the Dollar Tree (yes, these videos really exist).

So, is having a large enough presence on social media enough to say someone is famous? Strangely it is. My now 5 year old (Owen 5th birthday 4/17/24) is addicted to this YouTube channel called Ryan's World. From what I can tell, the channel originally started out as a kind of mom and kid's (he was about 5 when he started) review of toys. Now, the whole family is involved (including Ryan's future replacement, his younger twin sisters) and they go on trips, play silly games, review toys (the puberty train has arrived so Ryan's toy reviewing days are numbered) and every once in a while, they will actually do something educational. Today, Ryan has his own line of Ryan's World merchandise and he's worth millions. Methinks the money is gonna come in handy because the kid is likely going to need A LOT of therapy and maybe a stint or two in rehab when the fame fades and the money stops coming in.

Becoming a social media celebrity seems to be the new American Dream. It's a modern day gold rush with everyone staking a social media claim in the hopes of striking it rich in followers, sponsors, endorsements, and all the wealth that comes with it. Like the gold rush of 1849, a few social media hopefuls may strike it rich. Unfortunately, most will likely find themselves with nothing, just like the failed prospector who never finds gold nuggets on his claim, and has nothing to show for his effort and must return home with nothing except for a bad case of gonorrhea he got from one of the girls at the Dirty Kitty Saloon.

I can't say I aspire to wealth or fame. Fuck, I'm a social worker which means I'm doomed to be forever broke and the code of ethics I work under requires that I perform my job as anonymously as possible. So, there's no wealth or fame in my future. Personally, I think someone should create a social media site for those who have no wish to be anything other than who they are. I'd call it, Apathy Book. Like my post (if I post at all), or not, watch my videos, read my content, or not, Whatever. "Followers" wouldn't be a thing because Jim Jones and Charles Manson had followers and that should be warning enough about people who want a large number of people to follow them. See also religion, and anyone who thinks Taylor Swift has talent for other examples of how following anyone can be dangerous. Besides, I don't want anyone really following me outside of The Prose because, I'm worse than lost. You have a destination in mind to be lost. I don't know where the fuck I going. I would suggest one new social media feature for Apathy Book I'd call, "Go Fuck Yourself With a Rusty Piece of Rebar Wrapped in Barbed Wire Sideways, Sans Lube." This button could be used for the dick head that starts posting things like, "The Election Was Stollen," "Vaccines Cause Autism," and "Donald Trump is Better than Jesus, Shits Gold and Pisses Silver." Or I guess we could just have a minimum IQ requirement which would likely keep posts like these from every being a thing on Apathy Book.