I did something impulsive last night. I’d rendered a test version of “This Old Dawg” and made an A.I. video.
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A.I. Meets This Old Dawg
Author: Wicasta
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You’re Too Sensitive
My stepfather would break my mother’s heart with his manipulations and dismiss her pain by telling her “you’re too sensitive”.
Unless you’ve been living way out in a desert, you’ve probably heard of the recent proliferation of Artificial Intelligence driven image generators.
Something happened this morning. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t life changing. If anything, it was a simple shift from something noisy to something quieter.
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Yet I Remain
I’ve moved this web site to a new system. So it feels appropriate to make some pointless remark about resiliency and longevity. But there really are no fancy words. At this point in my life my survival is not a dramatic statement or some misguided defiance.
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December 11th, 2019
I decided to kill myself last week. December 11th, 2019. It was a Wednesday. Since I’m writing this now, it’s fairly obvious I didn’t go through with it. Suicide has been on the table since I was a kid.
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July 21, 2019 – Nick Ciraci
On Feburary 6, 2019, Wicasta sat down with Nick Ciraci, a talented young mind in the MIRA program at Saint Petersburg College in St. Petersburg, Florida. Nick and Wicasta chatted for almost two hours in the SPC Radio studio on the Gibbs campus
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July 14, 2019 – Matt Kessel
Matt Kessel, an amazing young multi-instrumentalist, sat down with Wicasta on January 30th, 2019, for the first of two interviews.
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July 7, 2019 – Tom Morris
Tom Morris – July 7, 2019 On March 7th, 2019, I sat down with Tom Morris, producer, engineer, and co-owner of the legendary Morrisound Recording studio which Tom runs with his brother, Jim, in Tampa, Florida. Tom is also an adjunct professor at Saint Petersburg College in its heralded MIRA program. Tom sat down with […]
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My Uncle, Allen Lovelace
I just got my genealogy database back online. I’d been putting it off for ages. There’s always so many other more important things to do. But yesterday was the day. My uncle, Allen Lovelace, died on Sunday. I owed it to him to mark his passing.
