Words go here. Considering what you could call local precedent, more than a few.
Can't even say 'where to begin?' for honest and for reals as the kids
say, without treading on the cliche side of the path, in addition to
scoring numerous squiggly red lines for questionable spellage. Take
that, spellcheck.
Great heaps of different topics surround me, metaphorically.
Metaphysically, too, for whatever that's worth. I need some
housekeeping, clearing out of a few things inside my head as well as
around my lazy ass.
The Recently Deceased and the ever hanging threat of joining them,
the green herb of health that has been the joinery of the longest stretch of goodness and prosperity in my life,
the obvious, plainly broken promises America still pretends it has kept,
the homeless people we're no better than, sleeping on the street every night,
the veterans who've been given one raw deal after another far too long,
the crush of anxiety-ready stuff that bleeds and bulges forth from behind my eyes everyday whether I want it to or not anyway...
Plenty to vent about, complain about, explain, debate, destroy, rebuild.
I have for more than a few years now kept a kind of frame in my head.
Not a picture frame, but more like the skeleton of a dollhouse or
something. Framework underlying a greater structure.
This framework is the idea of writing to any/all politicians about The
List of Things Which Concern Me. It would not be a short one. It
wouldn't pretend to be fired up about anything that doesn't interest me.
It would be a pretty selfish document for the selflessness it would
import in the bigger picture.
Still, I've been steadily at the keep-on-living chore and the usual
daily random static of tasks that come along with such endeavor.
But also with the possibility of my first published novella, a big
compilation project, a few technical wrinkles almost behind the scenes,
and the ever-generally getting-better that comes with no longer being a
hormonally ravaged teenage chaos bomb.
In short, I want to write more.
Giving myself the sort of place that feels like it should be... has been
more challenging than I thought it would be, even going into it knowing
that America's intellectual property and copyright laws are a fucking
dismal mass of dead red tape.
But someday soon you'll see a brazen knockoff of the style
daringfireball uses and my increasingly unreadable drivel trickling down
the middle of your screen.
Just remember to hit Alt-F4 and it'll all go away again.
