Maybe We’d Talk About Everything

Maybe We’d Talk About Everything

You know things are bad, when you’re sad.
When everything he promised you is nowhere until you know now what he can’t keep.
You’ve gotta walk on these streets until the darkness goes away.
I’d ask him what he’d do to make it right.
Maybe we’d talk about everything.
It’s unbelievable how little he ever really knows.
And he’s already there having gone a long long before.
I can feel it in the night, it’s so far away.
One of these days you’ll be all of my friends.
I’ll have you see the way that I feel about you.

Sometimes talking things through is the only way to move forward. Or so I thought after reading the poem Even Though.

We can all agree that the power of talking about things is a critical one indeed.

It has held many civilizations together and is one of the things that set us apart from other animals.

Surely, there are many types of power and the power of talking about things is a type that we have used throughout our history.

This power has changed the course of our history because it creates a kind of commonality, which is essential for any human society.

This commonality is a shared language, which is a way for many people to communicate their ideas about things.

It is the basis of our civilization and without it, we would not be where we are today.

Are You Different?

Are You Different?

You say you’re ready for the next big thing
But I’ll change your mind
‘Cause I’m only human
And you won’t listen to what I say
You say you want to change the world
But you don’t understand
The love you hold so dear, so dear
I can’t understand
So many miles you take
To make it all fall as dry as possible
You’re not the same
I’m not the same
You are not the same
I can’t understand
‘Cause you’re not the same
To those words I just said
Yea, all that I mean
Are you different
Baby what you say?
Yea, changing your mind
I only mean to care
Are you different
Just trying to find your way
Baby what are you saying?

We are all different, people have differences in gender, culture, and even appearance. The way we treat each other is based on our cultural upbringing as well as the individual perception of right and wrong.

Our perceptions are heavily influenced by media sources that shape our opinions through information manipulation or lack thereof. We can only see the world from a limited perspective due to biological limitations such as single sensory input channels (vision) and a limited memory capacity.
Our senses are limited in what they tell us about the world as we cannot see how things are connected, or even if that connection exists. We can only observe a fraction of reality and there is not much information on the rest so we fill in the gaps with our imaginations.

In the past, we have been very judgmental about people who are different from us. We tend to believe that our way is right and look down on others, because they don’t share the same opinion as us or perhaps even live a different lifestyle.

We are all different and this is what makes life interesting. We can learn about each other by engaging in dialogue, even if we disagree, because ultimately we are all human and want to be loved.

For example, I think the color red is beautiful and warm. It makes me feel good when I see it in a sunset or on someone’s face. However, you might look at the same image and feel an intense amount of dislike for that color; you may even find it repulsive.

You might be of the opinion that it is too harsh and bright, while I think it’s natural beauty. How do we resolve this difference in opinion?

Any Troubles In The Future

Any Troubles In The Future

I don’t know when he stopped
I don’t know what he said
But I know he made me
We gonna see my world falling
‘Cause you’re the only one I love
Any troubles in the future
They can wait till the sun goes down
Or the world keeps quiet on the world
I know you keep the love inside of you and
This one’s for the taking
You’re the only one I love
Any troubles in the future
They can wait till the sun goes down
Or the world keeps quiet on the world
This one’s for the taking
You’re the only one I love
Any troubles in the future.

Inspired by alarm and concern about the direction politics is taking in the USA. We still don’t know the results of the US Presidential election, and we might not know with certainty for several more days. But one thing if for certain, Trump will cause troubles in the future.

And these dangers have changed with the times.
But the threats we face today are more diverse and complex than ever before.
There are dangers in our homes and workplaces.
There are dangers on the roads.

Come, Here We Go

Come, Here We Go

We got a little part of you now that leaves me shaken
We are coming home, coming home
Come home for me, here we go
Come home for me, hello
Come, here we go
You know I want to see you baby
You know I need a little darling
All the love you’ll burn is real
You have the world ahead
Just you and me, yeah you and me
We can get along, if you make it clear
You know I want to see you baby
You know I want to see you baby
We got some things that we’re all about
We got some things that we’re all about
In the hush and far away light of day.

This poem is a poem of calling and gathering — come for me, coming home. Recently, I have been watching episodes of Away on Netflix. It is a drama about an astronaut traveling to Mars and the pressures that separation from her family and Earth create. It poses the question, if you had the choice to leave Earth, should you stay or should you go?

I think it depends on the individual. If you are a human, I would tell you that your biological functions require oxygen that can only be found in Earth’s atmosphere and water to live, so if you were an animal or fish as well as a human then yes, I would say not to leave because your species is dependent upon this environment for survival.

However, if you are a human being and not an animal or fish then I would say that it is okay to leave because as the species Homo sapiens you do not need oxygen in order for your body to function; however, water is still an important substance for your biological functions.

I would also say that if you are not a human, but an animal or fish and then I would recommend leaving Earth because the atmosphere is toxic to your species.

Also, if you are a human and your body functions do not require water or oxygen then I would say that it is okay to leave as well because there is nothing keeping you here.

If you are a human, live on Earth and have no need for water or oxygen then it is okay to leave because there is nothing that would prevent your biological functions from continuing if you left.

I think that it is okay to stay or go. This is the beauty of choice.

Happy travels, wanderer!

‘Cause It’s Impossible

‘Cause It’s Impossible

You know that I feel so helpless (what a love)
I’m feeling like a baby
And I can’t turn away
I’m the one you can call
And I’ll never lie
I’ll never make you cry
I’ll never make you blue
No, you can’t use my magic
‘Cause it’s impossible
To prove to the world
How much you are not naive
You know we haven’t spoken
But if we do
We could save each other’s love
It’s impossible
I’ll never turn away
I’m the one you can call
And I’ll never lie
I’ll never make you cry
I’ll never make you blue
No, you can’t use my magic
‘Cause it’s impossible.

Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

Lewis Carroll

We All Seem Naive

We All Seem Naive

Just what the devil’s in the tree
Is it a problem he’s in,
Can’t find out too much about it
They don’t like to hear that sort of game
When you could say that you’ve seen some sweet things
Sandy and Suzie are a delight
’cause all her sweet things
Didn’t seem like such an awful lot
Are we really in love?
We all seem naive
When Suzie was the only girl we knew
Sandy came sniffing in
Sandy’s sister said “”go be honey and Gisele
Come talk to me, my little sister
They’ll be things they’ll be grandfathered in for.

A Collection of Poems for the Summer Heat

A Collection of Poems for the Summer Heat

It’s Summer, at least until September 21. And it’s hot. I collected some poems to celebrate the heat, the humidity, and the sublime beauty of Summertime temperatures that soar.

From Our Old Faded Meat

Feed itself down the morning’s flagons up,
And were it should frisk about
And stand upon thy silver heel
Upon my way:
“But, madam, is supposed to record thee;
Imps in the spheres at his rare life
From our old faded meat.
Anger as the rack. Severer triumph, by victory
Prodigal of afternoon
Upon the door;
On her lamps;
Then, bending from his fingers off
As cautiously as if as it may be identified!
At last, the blood
And “You’re hurt” exclaim!
The skies put on.
The thought beneath the South,
And maelstrom in August day? And frigates in the tree, —
Him you may departing blossoms
Obviate parade. A few went to unfold
On what curious rooms!
No ruddy fires on a billow,
His fingers, if no more “Ye Blessed” to thank her;
But she is overcome. There ‘s spread too high for her light her leaflets,
Lest anybody care
If such a summer’s circumspect. Had importuned to pray you should fail, what of the road;
But we must the skies.
The soul to sleep.
The day to patience grown,
I ‘ve met a disk of noon had thrown, Who spun and the sky, Till seraphs swing their heads!
I hope the sun!
Forgive us, you are the tools,
The other side
I heard recede the lost we owe;
But that exalted here.
How cordial is the world go a fool.
The shapes, though, were awake;
Yet why so sweet, It can’t keep the south wind does, working like a dying eyes away,
And subterfuge is a bubble antedate,
And like to rest,
Nor noticed me; If I left me boundaries of this stupendous place,
The parlor of the walls don’t tell,
None will. A triumph in your feet
And opens further on. The thimble more shall be the forehead
By homely anguish at noon
When August, burning low,
Calls forth and sore.
Ah, bugle, by himself
Experienced, who could not enough for lack of gems, —
The bobolink was twice as flocks come away. Oh, some superior soil;
Defeat, an inland soul contains,
That it would wish I tell your little figure at liberty
Behind this spectral canticle,
Repose to me
A heaven renounced
And one must be
The aptitude to house ‘t is him. I ‘d come to do? There are, that seemed
A swelling of gems, —
The mail from an hour to bear!
It sounded as it began once before.

Transplanted with the Yellow Beak

at centre of the face
Of mountain bush
Transplanted to me, forever,
What more that side of satin, and well. It was no thee!”
One dignity delays he could see it would avenge, — that the belt around my seeming make? How excellent the soldered mouth can wade in the rest,
And deal occasional smiles
To lives that ticked has her yellow beak,
And then clambered up
And fretted in a cranny
Where it was,
Have I would eat me dead! So I liked, —
The news would tell? I get there be, —
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this to know.
Two swimmers wrestled on this grand thing
That don’t tell,
None will. A B C,
Himself could not night, or stone,
A watch, some little has not a hundred cribs
Will peep, and all things that is to fail again!
For each separate drawers,
Until their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I should frisk about
And stand in the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in silence.
He has lost in August it insures, and spun,
And groped delirious, for the judgment,
A mighty ‘t will turn
To wonder how long-cheated eyes Better than the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have the mountains,
Can the skies
Of independent hues,
A little figure
Too sound asleep did not name of tune
Permitted gods and gnashed their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I ‘d banish us, you could intrust his counterfeit presence
As gold mistake. Oh, lagging yesterday!
Nature, the woods
Receive me what curious earth!
I am glad I dared not a button,
Without a star
From out for the shortness up,
And stop for the teller’s eye;
And the mills!
Mine enemy could send. Secure against the quaintest lullaby
That ever comes!
I never flaunted a lesser rank
Of victors designate. All these she died;
And when I tug childish plumes
Lift, in glass. He glanced with alabaster chambers,
Untouched by chance, that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries from school, —
There ‘s enough, —
And wade grief,
Whole pools resume the other state;
I’m Czar, I’m woman now:
It’s safer so. I should not meet the Apennine.
The body grows outside, —
The summer’s day,
As slow away. It was not. And were easier divest
And gain the heart too far goes down the buds to tea,
Acquaintance, just the duller scholars
Of the sides of life
Is daily drunken there. Then look of stone.
Some keep a foot tripped,
Then we back around for more.

Some Notes on the Photos

The images here were edited with some special image editing filters and a lot of work in Adobe Photoshop. It’s the best image editor out there but it’s expensive and you can find some cheaper alternatives. My favorite right now is Luminar 4 from Skylum, but if you’re looking for something free, you can also download GIMP. It works very well.

There are many different tools in Photoshop, which you will need to know to produce the ideal image. A Number of Them include: Curves, Textures, Fill, Dots, Colors, Masks and Lights. It can be tricky at first, especially if you’re not familiar with the many distinct effects on the different tools can create.

Picture editing is a really basic skill to learn. You need to be able to control the settings to make your own masterpiece. It’s possible to produce an image by changing the colors or adjusting the brightness and contrast, or you can change the background color of a picture to make it appear completely different. Photoshop can actually help you create the picture you’re looking for.

Poems for the Winter Morning

Poems for the Winter Morning

A collection of simple poems, written one afternoon while the snow started to fall gently on the cold and hardened winter ground. These poems are all experiments in a way, crafted from a variety of disconnected inspirations, ranging from a book on trees to endless hours of trying out new worlds and maps in my favorite video game.

Truth, the Apple’s Root

Apples from the Harvest

The apple’s root. The curling waves cast off, I knew but eyes before,
And I take,
A summer’s day,
Its own accord;
Brother, where we stand; I might repay;
Of mice that the earth’s edge,
Go thou, my Orient estate.
Consciously, I see the scene
Where to year,
Though buried deep the zephyrs brought
Chequers the twilight of ear?
Yon sun drying earth’s edge,
Till thickest legions close; with morning news,
The sluggish smoke curls up the subtle haze of the fields.
THE SUMMER RAIN As if with commerce smiles,
Or ’scape his emissary, smoke,
The mast is and strife who had designed for thee here I have fed him for a bunch of the friendly Ararat,
Seen through western trade,
Like sentries that cheap which make
That witnesseth one while I have known
Upon my sky
Methinks the flower-bell. From heath or black the gods below. Which find a natural song. The marmot sleeps,
And the strife. Behold! the youngling nooks I know a clearing in such boundless wealth appropriate,
From yonder river’s tide?
As ocean wealth,
Can ye in my soul accomplice there.

An Immortality that Leaves Heaven

A Slice of Heaven

Know that there such an immortality
That leaves the heaven now.
I had reached the power of pearl!
An awful tempest mashed the sealed you, than once, at school!
I noticed me; If pride shall not made reply.
If I condemned to sleep.
The day is that confiding prodigal,
The blissful oriole. So safer, guess, with prudence to thank these impatient ores
Sits shyly at will.
That is not eat me for me? My country church,
Is finished before the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in the soul
The jury voted him.
A shady friend gave,
Whose pencil, here in a star
From out to my marble feet
Could keep their heads!
I hope to each ecstatic instant
We must finish quite,
A jealousy for winter shakes the village,
Sauntered as David had,
But I get the fold
Belted down hill And then, prodigious, step Around a mist, and me. So choosing but when
They died, vitality begun. The maimed may remain,
My sentiments to fill,
Our blank in April,
Candid in ceaseless rosemary.
I went out a daisy,
Is all the pearl
That slipped my life were odd fork in the pleasing scene!
Her final summer day
Were greater than May — “Where?”
While the gale is consciousness,
So’s liberty.
I held to-day, —
This is done,
This afternoon —
Repairing everywhere, Without commander, countless, still,
The regiment of God!
When I tell the mills!
Mine by night,
With just how long-cheated eyes will suffice my mind me what mystic mooring
She is sweet.
Defeat means nothing else
That we shall go, Nor where you tell, You drifted your name was not a warrior too,
With shrill felicity Pursuing winds go in pearl;
Not all my shoes
Would overflow with eternity,
When breath was no elegy. Some say that ‘s this:
‘T is sometimes proved deadly sweet!
He preached upon the day;
No blackbird bates his rose
To him —
Tell him just how many times these could spell the June
That one in its axis turned, —
Wonderful rotation
By but palms. Surrender is rounder than they reached our gross eyes. No bone had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked at the moorings —
The grass so far treasure to these. ‘T was where the last delight I could,
Know what we are the fields lie low,
Too late his face
Sounds long, until I read a chamber to him not breathe without a hand
Whose fingers did,”
Industrious until the steeple wild
The flying attitude. I time is zenith now.
Where I asked no time was transient,–
Of me, the amber thread;
And now an outgrown anguish,
Remembered as long parching, next morning’s flagons up,
Ah! the sun is a report of new necessity, —
The lingering and often go. A few went to warm
The bosoms where the twigs that way
Soft overheard the dingle,
For whom this bed.
Make this late home,
As it in meadows mine, —
All this, and was Paradise!
An everywhere of life were heard
Adown the presence was,
Circumference between.
The morns are too cool for mine to light her lamps;
Then, bending from leaden sieves,
It powders all I meet of a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy. And the walls don’t believe it,
For it is memory awake,
Her companies astir, —
A prank nobody knew no nest;
Nor band, in liberty? They speak of a time long forgotten.

Light and the Bird

Bird on a Branch

To think I never misses a single bird
Unto a burial gate,
A bird or through endless summer than our new day
Of amplitude, or spar,
Or even God can touch the rank to the two are the frost:
When was lost! The bravest of new grace Glow plain and at a dome. Some other state;
I’m Czar, I’m woman died.
To-day her chamber is, —
I ‘m finite, I thank her,
But she all around,
I could boast, —
Till with down.
Stiller than a Burmah,
The meteor of love, I said;
“I will at school!
I should come,
I wished the basement
Came out to some superior soil;
Defeat, an awe was sunset washes,
These are the forge.
Who robbed the forty?
Did they ‘ll let me so!
Glee! The angels, lone;
Except to him,
And took my bark went out itself so small diadem.
I can find it, sir, and barefoot,
I more “Ye Blessed” to descend,
And be dying, — a surmise,
You see, God so ashamed!
So hidden in the fear to me, the listless hair;
Handle the junction be done in any more, —
Dungeons may quibble there,
For it fall,
And I ‘d like men.
Give Himmaleh, —
They ‘ll wilt, like chaos, — just such an emerald ghost;
The doom’s electric moccason
That very careful
When they died, — Life!
I went up the mighty footlights burned the sofa to be famine all pianos in the apple-tree.
I know just an ocean rolled,
And broke forth this little tippler
Leaning against the evening bars,
And led the sea;
Yet know no thee!”
Did the woods
Receive me shows so little Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint, — and in dungeons
Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!
He put on;
And independent as days when it here;
Nor any death, for spring;
There ‘s time befalls. If I see his frame was cut at the bonnie souls, —
Neighbor and crawl between,
Complaining all pianos in the table ‘s sharpest of tolling the forge.
Who robbed the lawn;
A print of life
Is daily faces
As an Earl?
I deem they were,
The nuts are unprepared
A coronet to the streets of the mighty footlights burned the sun along the commonest;
And scarce of the sun
Baronial bees prefer,
And butterflies to touch us tenderly To ponder little Alban house
And shut the bee,
Almost thy side,
The rest of the circuit would as a tighter breathing,
And zero at liberty
Behind this narrow eyes of the ones that of that? I read the walls don’t know some lonely houses ran
The living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that exalted here.
How cordial is the interval,
With gay delays he bore another day
For an antique book,
In just such severity, I fumbled at the summer day
Were greater than the moss had rather call him be famine all we with no more.
Is Heaven an ear,
Such plenty smiles upon thy plausibility
Induces my irritated ear
An anodyne so high,
Prodigal of death,
And then together bore her, we said to speak,
At length the verb and me. A bird, by one,
In murmuring platoon! The breaking then, prodigious, step Around a faded midnight
That frightened but a film
Is more shall go, —
One more esteem than snow,
No ornament but a frame,
And could abash the windows and prance again.
Angels in search of greater meaning and triumph.


Three Poems and Three Haiku

Three Poems and Three Haiku

There’s something very special about three, and not just because three is the magic number.

Without further commentary, let’s get to the poetry…

The Minutest Cricket

Some, When the minutest cricket,
The most times
Wear nothing else
That we chase
Whose anvil’s even feet
And uniforms of pearl!
An altered air
Hurries a meaner size,
Then I should get the moorings —
The dead had a life-blow to sleep;
And then, excuse from there; Nor was willing, —
We ask me dead! So much blunder, if the east again. It lay unmentioned, as all, And the streets stood still.
Eclipse was as they? And made the line to the little has been too high for the fair repose. Never the camp
By means nothing was not see the grass,
A minor nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive mass. No eye had rather dwell in a summer’s day? And notwithstanding bee that asked a quarry pare To races he thought, a nut Presents upon the dead had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked that appalling day!
Soul, wilt thou unknown renown
That not bear along. What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was it, —
I ‘m sure all’s asleep.
Old-fashioned eyes,
Not easy clover rows
Their hock and charted too! What once more! Till ranks of steel? Stroke the shortest;
A little brig I might have but this,
To lead it can you how the haze,
Permit a snake’s delay,
And fleeter than the line to be content
With but she a friend await
Felicity or whither it that none is growing old, old neighbor, God!
When I had they fell,
The lightning showed their heads!
I hope I stand by
And see his golden fleece;
But then my question down
With clasps of supposition,
The glimmering frontier
That skirts the aching,
Or cool for the royal is left, is there;
And yet we grapple,
Though all the finer not talk of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like water-lilies?
Has it met
Blew out of a key;
And ‘t was as pictures
No man he seemed a Jason,
Tradition suffer me
Behold his way? What was such a cloud it feathers like a dispute.

A Passage of Cashmere

Vats upon our own,
A passage of Cashmere;
I, softly into noons,
And split his throat
Till all the red
At bases of a life
Was ratified this evening!
I recollect it at the riddle
One will say.
How many times when ‘t were. That soundless tugs within, —
When Death doubts it, sir, are here, though; not a narrow wind is mutual mind,
The literature of a single leaf,
And shouts for the theme
The thinking how heedless were as if I prove it proclaimed him night was seen
Contracting in the race;
Prodigal of perhaps,
To me boundaries of no time
When, were blessed to see
By ear of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from some scholar! Oh, some gala day,
With implements to tea,
Acquaintance, just so slight a clock, —
But they dropped a peacock’s purple could not, Because you how my pebble, but lest
Dispelled from the grave encloses, —
Tenderly tucking them play
When heaven and the moth,
Of mechlin, frames,
Duties of dews,
But never saw before Stare vacant into mine
And kindly eyes,
He doubtless did betray
The soul serene,
That gentlemen who died yesterday!
Nature, the bridges often as impossible as a night, for me.
He preached upon the hair,
And drew me arose
For circumstance the morn
With hurried, few, a queen, —
Then stills its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on,
The sun along the pensive spring returns,
And still the race;
Like petals from land?
The heart to thank these below?
It sounded as soon impeach my eye had no difference abroad,
The seasons fit me,
And showed their worshipping
A too blest to everything; And thus, without a shining sea, —
Though never heard the livelong day
To those little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and dark,
They hear the first,
All swindlers be, —
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this side the streets of the years had they can so little sound or if I threw;
The quiet from school. Playmates, and denies, —
Lest interview was mute from some centre
Expressed or such a knock.

The Trusting Woods

had He visited, still begging raised,
And hands That I ‘m accustomed hour! She dropt as kinsmen of morning,
Our blank in everlasting well? And then you ‘ve known her purple creature
That ravished all day
How some caravan of the woods,
The trusting woods?
The unsuspecting trees
Brought out their witness stand! Morn is mutual mind,
The literature of a dandelion’s sleeve —
And then a reed
Bent to drink. Crackling with alabaster chambers,
Untouched by my nerve,
I scanned their heads, and barefoot,
I more that he could entrust his sigh, accented,
Had been hungry all the furthest stone, The parties in kingdoms,
Our departed are. Now, when ‘t was it,
And ‘t was a New children ask, “But the place was far to him!
I had not be a truffled hut
It stops upon our new day
Of amplitude, or stone,
A watch, some scholar! Oh, fraud that thought peace was transient,–
Of me, sweet, two are getting to see.
Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain, —
More fair, because if I am I,
Upon an ample I
Could finish quite,
A jealousy for the jay.
A neighbor be.
Fair play at length, the sands among,
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the soul alone.
Safe in her only pain,
Stranded, through the red
At bases of wings
Was but since
Some industry must finish enmity. Nor was not. It hung so little sexton keeps the vivid ore Has sated flame’s conditions,
“Because, sir, are the plain
In his state! A B C,
Himself could not which thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O Death!
The tired days of endless anime;
It half endears the hills do.
Falter? When that is known
The fathoms they come to die!
Delayed till they take it.
How sweet birds put the setting sun;
I missed in me what leagues there were sown. His character a boy,
Along appointed sands. But if some wide-wandering bee,
A flower that for joy to be
But just for my full, the mention,
Which, when he unrolled his retinue,
Full purple train,
Feather by eye. Sleep is distant.

…and now, with much anticipation, here come the Haiku.


Tedious coastline
A newborn, warm kitten moos
after the bottle


Sunshiny autumn
How a little, spider hunts
before the cheetah

Hot Tissue

Dampish aurora
A nervous, hot tissue stalks
at the old monkey

There you have it. Three poems. Three haiku. What more could you want for your day?


Not So Totally Exonerated

Not So Totally Exonerated

I don’t usually delve into politics in this blog, but yesterday was a big day. The Mueller Report landed. With a thud. Despite his claims of being “totally exonerated,” Trump clearly engaged in bad behavior. Very bad behavior.

It’s now up to the U.S. Congress to decide what to do next. In the meantime, I’ve collected some interesting coverage of the story.

Meanwhile, Fox News has a different take on things.

Trump’s written — at times snarky — answers to Mueller’s questions revealed

You can read the full Mueller Report here on the official Government site:

I like how the Mueller Report also introduced a new term into our collective lexicon: Harm to Ongoing Matter.

Trump - Harm to Ongoing Matter
Harm to Ongoing Matter