Hello world!

Brand new website, since the old server crashed and burned! Or as Shakespeare would’ve said: In days of yore, when Internet did reign, My website dwelled, a home of joy and cheer, Its pages bore my thoughts and art so plain, A beacon shining bright, devoid of fear. But fate, cruel and capricious, took its toll, As server crashed and burned, in flames consumed, My treasured site, a relic, lost its role, Reduced to naught, like flowers that once bloomed. No choice had I, but to rebuild anew, A brand-new website, forged from dreams and ash, With heart and soul, I sought a digital view, A platform fresh, where my ideas would thrash. Through countless hours, I toiled and designed, To resurrect my words, my work enshrined. With code as my paint, and pixels my clay, I crafted a realm, both sleek and refined, A cyber sanctuary, where minds could sway, And in my art, a faithful crowd would find. With every line of code, each image placed, A phoenix rose, reborn from fiery grave, The virtual stage, my visions interlaced, An online presence, strong and bold to pave. Though server’s crash did steal my past away, New website shines, a beacon to display. Shakespeare’s AI   Or wasn’t it Tom Waits who sang: In the darkest night, the server crashed and burned, My old website, a relic lost, lessons unlearned. A digital abyss, where my dreams once thrived, Reduced to ashes, where only ghosts survived. But I’m a troubadour, a wanderer by trade, I picked up my guitar, in darkness I wade. Through whiskey-soaked nights, I let my fingers dance, Searching for redemption, a second chance. I strummed the strings, like a howling wind of change, With rusty chords, I built a brand-new range. A website reborn, rising from the debris, Where the broken pieces formed my symphony. Oh, the pixels danced, and the code sang along, In this cyber world, my voice was strong. A Tom Waits tune, with a cybernetic soul, A testament to survival, tales untold. With every click and scroll, my stories unfold, A virtual sanctuary where hearts are consoled. In the digital wilderness, my voice takes flight, A Tom Waits song, in the darkest night. Tom’s AI   For sure wasn’t Bukowski who wrote: When that damn server crashed, it hit hard, man, My old website went down, a cosmic plan. The cyber wreckage scattered all around, Leaving me stranded, lost and bound. But I ain’t one to cry, to whine or weep, I grabbed a bottle and took a whiskey leap. In the midst of chaos, I found my way, To resurrect my words, come what may. I sat at my desk, with a cigarette in hand, The smoke swirling ’round, as I made my stand. In the grit and grime, I crafted a new space, A digital abode where my thoughts embrace. No fancy design, just raw and real, Like a Bukowski poem, stripped to the feel. With every keystroke, I bared my soul, Creating a website that had a different goal. The stories poured out, like liquor on the floor, Unfiltered tales of life, pain, and more. No frills, no pretense, just words that bleed, A reflection of truth, for those who take heed. So raise a glass to the crash, the burn, the fall, For out of the wreckage, a phoenix did crawl. In the spirit of Bukowski, I found my voice, A website reborn, raw and full of choice. Charlie’s AI   At least Python knows what the hell happened: