photographer. artist. author. singer. songwriter. musician. teacher. student. humanitarian. visionary.


Photography Basics and Layering with Textures

The English Way

…at least in my kitchen. Thanks, Benny Hill.


“I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between Me and the earth.” – Genesis 9:13/KJV

Garden of the Gods. Shawnee National Forest. Illinois. (Almost SOOTC.)


Egg. Parmesan. Mayo. Pan-seared, vine-ripened tomato- (macerated in lemon prior) on toasted whole grain brioche, on a glass plate. Perfection. No salt necessary.


Over the years, I’ve had various individuals attempt to strike out at my blog, me personally, & try to have it removed.

Why? Because I’m a Truth teller, and I’m bold. I have 0 problems setting a record straight when lies make up its foundation.

There’s a difference in stating facts and stating opinions. Opinions are hollow, useless things. They dance around facts to confuse people. Facts, however, are truth. I can work with that.

What I can’t work with are untruths about my life, story, accounts, etc. on an allegedly “accurate account” website. I give you Exhibit A:

I’ve never lived in Louisville.

Exhibit B:

What the actual €*<k?

Why am I doing this? To set the record straight. The power of the blog!

Now this could get lengthy, so ain’t nobody gonna blame ya if you’d rather be off watching Tik Tok. I do my blog for me first.

Exhibit C:

Fourteen alternative names are known: Birgitta R Matzat, Birgitta Profitt, Lindsey Birgitta, Birgitta Lindsey, Birgetta Lindsey, Brigitta Lindsey, Birgita Lindsey, Brigitta R Lindsey, Kathryn L Williams, Willie B Piercy, Willie J Piercy, Kathryn L Dikes, Kathryn Williams, Birgitta Linsey.

Oh Lawd have mercy, where do I even begin? Three out of fourteen; not bad. Willie J. Piercey. << What the hell? 😂

Just gonna…straighten this up here…

Two alternative names are known: Birgitta R Matzat, Birgitta Profitt.

Exhibit D:

Birgitta is a resident of 908 East Chestnut Str, Jeff, IN 47130.

Now see, that’s how good I am at ninja-level invisibility. I haven’t lived there in 15 years.

Exhibit E:

Birgitta has visited ten cities. <<< 😅😂😅

Yuh know what? I’m gonna let ‘em have that one. If you visit 500, you visit 10. It’s like the imaginary number in Calculus. You can’t necessarily see it, but you better believe it’s there.

So you see, why am I such a mouthy broad- always having something controversial to say? Because I can. And I’m my own public defender, sooo…, please update your records as it’s really annoying to see this travesty of the written word.


Can’t buy a friend. Gus is right. More people should be like Gus. <<<


So in keeping with my 2 posts per day average for 2022 (new year, new methodologies), I’m gonna throw this shizz your way. I was introduced to Taylor from School’s music 18-ish years ago? We met at the original Garageband, before Apple/Itunes bought them out. Make no mistake, he’s a master producer. His music is ultra hypnotic and absolutely flawless. Addictive? Hell yeah. Headphones are a must.

Without further ado; check this man out! I’m currently addicted to this track:

Dance with Me

Listen. To. This. Track. One man army. He’s got a huge playlist there so…meander about after hearing Dance with Me. 😉

Yes, Y, I’m looking at you! Makes for an excellent playlist when creating art. I would know. 😉


…that my children’s book, Peanut Butter Soup, is on Google Books?! Not I; I only found out today. (Did I mention I was busy with school for 11-12 years?)

But that’s super cool! A nice little surprise today. If you’re reading this & you want the first 13 pages free, hit up the Google Books link. You’re welcome. 😉 I don’t mind sharing.

Here’s one on the house: Funny Spaghetti


It’s all about those combats. 1.12.22.


1.5.22. Iphone. NFS/No Filter Series/self

Morning. Evening.

Super Tak-135/3.5 film


Iphone/NFS- No Filter Series- manually mastered


We March Like Soldiers

[based on a true story]
For Sean, because I know you understand. xo

We March Like Soldiers

Shuffling forward
We march like soldiers
Invisible chains rattling
That only we can hear

All crammed together
In that box
We jiggle a little

I keep my eyes on the numbers
In that crammed elevator and imagine
That death awaits me at the bottom
Like a gas chamber
Waiting to spit out its last breath


Down we go
To meet a collection of many tables
And glue and sparkly things
I don’t die

There is an exercise bike
And a fat woman rides
Always going

The piano makes me sad
I remember other things
And better days
Before I flew
Out of my mind

But down I sit
My fingers stumble like a bad lover
And I play the song of my life
Wanting only to cry

The crazy people look at me
They are smiling
I smile too- at what
I do not know
But on with the show!

I do not understand
How I got here
Or why

I march outside and watch the worker
Water the flowers
In the burning heat

A man walks in circles
And circles and circles
He is pleased to be talking
With himself
Round and round he goes
A curious machine
That brings
A heavy verdict
He discusses
Heaven and hell

Another jumps up and kicks the wall
Is he real?
Is he an angel? A devil?
Did he come up from a pit?

Did I see bats?
Are they birds?
I watch them fly away

Up and out of the high walls that surround
All of us here on lock down

The sunny workers in the flowered pajamas
Are careful to say lovely things
So we know
We’re sane

I swing and swing
Every day
On that damn bench
That never goes anywhere

Up we go


Back to the halls and walls that are plastered with rules
That we’re supposed to understand

There are smiley faces
That tell us
We are people too

Here on this safe floor with no lighters or sharp metal things
And we wait
Watching the new ones march in

I am uncertain
If I am dead or alive
I go to the bathroom
Shut the door
And try to cry

No tears

The night brings another solemn gathering
Of people standing in line
For the third time
To eat
And snacks too

I am a wild animal in these glass-windowed walls
I do not know how to get out
My eyes are black as mud inside
And my tears have been taken
By terror (the mirror does not lie)

Out I shuffle
With bare feet and no socks
In my spotted gown

The hall
And we all

March like soldiers
And stand in a sad line
To get our pills
Which make us feel
At least for a little while

Like we are sleeping
As we lie awake in this place
Flying out of our minds

– B. Lindsey
(original poem)
Written on 10/28/13




lemon. tomato. beef. pasta. smoked paprika. red onion. red Chile oil. grape jam. pink Himalayan salt. grated parmesan. green chiles. shaved parmesan.




Air Pods.


First of all, TY WORDPRESS for the FEATURE!

Secondly, I wanna take the time to spotlight a track I caught earlier. This cat named Dubrae. I may or may not spotlight more music but want to start 2022 off right.

Peace & Love, y’all. ❤️

Give it a spin:

M O M A. M O N E T. NYC.

After -sold to private collector


Iphone SE/No Filter




Taken today. 100% image transposition. Equipment used: DSLR + Sgm. 10-20 MM + IPHONE SE.

A picture of a picture.


My annual notice:

If your name is not: TFS/MT/DT, you may not copy, borrow, steal any photos displayed here. (Please see copyright tab.)

If you are said person (/H/S/I) listed above, you know the rest. xx