Another Moment of Panic

SO sometimes I think I can submit things to publishers.

I'm sure I could. It would be easy. Now-a-days it is mostly just copy & paste, copy & paste, copy & paste, send, send, send. Put your name + 'Submission' in the subject line, write a goddamned query that outlines the story and the main character and lays out themes that are focal to the plot, and please also list any credentials that you may have that we say we aren't going to be influenced by when we read this.

I've got this problem. I Love-hate writing. (Love is capitalized, so that's the bigger half.) I want to be able to tell the damn story I want to tell. That's it. I want to be able to put it into words so that someone else can pick it up, read the damn thing, and then look at me with understanding and appreciation because they could see what I saw. I just want to share.

Writing is flipping hard. And Editing makes me want to die. Shoot me in the foot, club me over the head and toss me off the boat, die. What made perfect sense before becomes this shameful, slobbering mess of garbled nonsense drooling all over itself for attention. It's desperate, sloppy, half crippled, mangled by the elements, with blood trickling down its face from an open head wound that is causing severe memory loss and dementia.

Just being created in the first place seems to turn all of my stories into traumatized war zone survivors.

I end up looking at them and just freeze. Who ARE you!? Where the HELL is my story?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM!? I can't work with you, I barely KNOW you! What are you wearing? Where are your shoes? Wasn't your hair brown? Weren't you supposed to be funny and wacky? Where is your continuity? What the hell drugs are you on right now!?

SO. I look at the publishers and I get all excited. Not a lot are accepting submissions, you know. Writing is a very popular past-time. Lots of people are doing it. Everyone. In the world. Is submitting. Except me.

But then I think of the puss-oozing, infected injury that I have saved on my hard drive, and I run. LIKE HELL. That isn't what I want people to see! I want them to see what I see! Or rather, What I SAW. The glory, the awe, the emotions, the viscera, the inspiration, the glowing summer sunrise in a far off land.

They aren't finished. They aren't good enough to send out. SO I struggle, painfully, slowly, achingly, desperately to edit, chip and polish them. And underneath the ripped clothing I had so carefully laid out for them when this all began is more ripped, soiled clothing. And beneath that are muddy hand wraps and leg warmers, unecessary and too loud, and beneath that are mismatched socks, drawstring underwear, and then dirt. Dirt, dirt, dirt. Layers of the stuff. I have to scrape at it.

But I can hear it whimper when I scrape too hard. Or maybe thats me. And when I try to throw out the torn shirt, I realize it's their favorite, lucky shirt. It could be the only reason they survived. And maybe the dirty hand wraps are gifts from a dear friend they lost in the war. The legwarmers were the last remaining posession of a little girl it had saved from falling debris, and thus were given as thanks for my tale's heroic act.

And the story looks at me with such great sad eyes. And I know it blames me for the blood trickling down its face, dripping off of its chin. And the worst part, the absolute worst is that it wants me to fix it. It is begging for me to fix it. It howls at the moon, praying to be fixed. And I know that in order to fix it, I first have to tear it to pieces. I have to take the lucky shirt and patch it. I have to find the other matching socks. I have to run a load of wash, and throw the story into a boiling kettle to clear the filth. Then I have to perform surgery without anesthetic. I have to go in with sharpened pen and snip and stuff and clip and poke. I have to bear through the weeping and the screaming and the protests.

And then I can only hope that it survives.

.... No pressure though, I'll submit. Eventually. Sure. No pressure.

No pressure.

Oru

Well Hello.

NaNoWriMo 2016 Surprise Clip!

Here is a tiny excerpt from what I've been writing. And I mean really tiny.

-*-

    Anna paused in the road and looked towards where the group of them had gone. When she was certain the dust from their horses hooves had settled she trotted to catch up to Karth.

    “What language were they speaking, Karth?”

    “Darklandish, I imagine.” He grumbled.

    “I understood them.” She admitted.

    Karth glanced down at her. “Figures.”

    Anna cocked her head at him, Willam style.

    Karth groaned. “Well, ye've got the damned symbol of their God burned inna yer skin, lass, it don't surprise me none.”

    Anna's eyes widened. “Which God, Karth?”

    Karth looked down at her, and said softly, as if the God might hear and turn to look. “Demaius, Lass. Ye've got the Divided son on yer back.”

-*-

...Anyone I know get the reference? Hehehe. 

I am finally writing about that world, in a context that tells a story, other then just speaking and rolling dice. Wish me luck!

A Poem.

Nothing is bright anymore.
The sun shines dim in the sky
The opportunity that knocks only scrapes there
like the bony hands of barren trees.
A shining shimmer that gleams in my eye
is more the pallor of a shark's
the dead black, hunter black, monster.

Nothing is bright anymore.
Imagined blossoms in the heart
The vivid feelings once exploding
Now subdued to uneventful embers.
They give no light, barely warm me, and glow in mockery.
No matter how I poke at them, they shiver and die
And sometimes I wish they would.

Nothing is bright anymore.
There is only a layer of gray here
No dance could call me back, if I danced.
Anymore.
No fairy tale ending, no carriage and prince
No glorious sunset calls to me there.
I rule in a kingdom of only gray.
And all my dreams; my willing slaves & subjects.

Difficulties

I think I am suffering from some pretty severe Ennui; or as dictionary.com says: A feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom.

I have no true reason to be unhappy. Not really. But then I think of all these things. Like how I never go out. How I haven't been dancing in years. YEARS. A thing that brought light to my nights, spring in my step, made me feel powerful and beautiful. Gone now.

I wish I wrote more too. But I think of why I write. WHY. What an odd question for me. I enjoy telling stories. I do. But the crux about telling stories is that you have to have someone to tell them to, don't you? And who am I going to tell these tales to? It is hard to get motivated about something no one really gives two shits about, isn't it?

I want a dog. I need more money. I wish I had a real date in the past seven years. I wish I had friends here. People to talk to, hang out with, get coffee, see a girly movie, do make-up, play games, anything with. I wish I was back in New York on Reilly Road in a house that is no longer mine. I wish I could lose this pesky 15-lb extra I had gained. I wish my eyes stopped getting worse. I wish there were no bugs in my apartment. I wish I had a bed frame. I wish I slept better, had better dreams, could lucid dream, had another dream about flying at the very least. I hate dreaming about failure.

I'm sort of finding it difficult to muster a real smile. I feel like every one I have is sort of forced, and that someone, anyone, when they look into my eyes when I offer that plastic grin will just know and call me out and put me on the spot. Sometimes I kind of just cry a little for no good reason other then its actually something I can feel.

Not sure why I'm writing this on here. Probably because all of this would have had my wrist aching if I had used a paper journal. Though I love love love paper journals, can't get enough of them.

Sigh

SO Very Sad

I remember when I was a kid, I would watch all sorts of movies and I would sigh with longing at their stunning plot-lines and romances and all the adventures and happy endings.  Sometimes, if it was really good, I would cry a little, wanting so badly to grow up so I could have an exciting and adventurous life. I couldn't wait. I knew wonderful things were in store for me.

When I was a teenager and a college kid, I would smile at them wistfully, be inspired by the characters and the villains. I would start to see hints and flavors of these stories in my own life. I would cry less frequently. I would see them as lessons or even sources. I would try to translate the aspect of them into my writing. That sort of thing.

Now I just watch them and everything sucks because I'm 31 and everything is really lame in the world. This world is such a royal shit hole that I can't even really see silver linings or positive sides anymore. It's all mired in a population that doesn't know what it wants and that hates everything.

So now when I see movies I like they only make me sad. Because I know they're just pretend. And life is never that good, is it?

Never is.

Serials!

Hello everyone!

So I have two Serials up and running on Jukepop.com at present:

The first one is Onieran - The story about an escapee from Arcadia and her shenanigans back in the real world!  Read it now from the beginning and vote for each chapter to help me potentially publish!

The second one is about a Werewolf who works for the government! It is called Elderbane and is currently in the 2nd chapter.
Read this one too!

Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy my writing as much as I enjoy sharing it with you. :)

Oru

Serial Updates!

Change of plans!

Short post, this.

I'll be updating the Serial every week until its all up, On Monday Afternoon!

That is all!

Oru

JukePop Serials

Greetings and salutations, friends!

I have been lucky enough to be accepted to JukePop - a publisher of online Serials.

Although I am pleased as punch to have been accepted into their circle, it really means nothing unless it is enjoyed by as many people as possible!

Therefore, May I present to you my new Serial: Onieran.

The Prologue and Chapter 1 are currently posted and available for perusal - but here is where you come in.

The more people who read and enjoy my Serial, the better. And even more so if you click the 'vote' button at the bottom of ever chapter. The more votes I get, the more inspired I get. But not only that  f I get the most votes, I may even get a cash prize or other awards!

So please. Its free. The chapters are around 1000 words long. It isn't a big drain on your day, and it would be pretty much the coolest thing you could ever do for me, ever.

Many thanks, and Enjoy!

Oru

The Unfair Life

We were not supposed to live in a utopia.

Human nature, in itself, as it has become, would never allow for it. We are (generically speaking, as a majority rule,) so lost behind the screen of greed, materialism, pride, and other such vices, that not for one minute could most of the population actually enjoy a Utopia.

Who has it better? How can I get it better? How can I get more? What can I do to make myself better, come out ahead, compete, compete, compete... The inflation, she sheer climb in 'better-then-yous' in our effed up world makes me want to vomit.

We destroy basically everything we touch as a species because all we do is consume. I consume. You consume. We all just take and take, and no matter the few who try to give back, it will never repair the damage that has already been done. At this point, we on a dead rock floating through space, and I CANNOT WAIT for it to hurtle into an asteroid and put itself out of its misery.

God, we suck.

Principle of the Thing

Greetings my fellow awesome people!

Today is not so much of a rant as it is an informative public message.

I have relocated, officially, to the South. For the sake of my own privacy, I won't be specific, but it is quite hot and my neighbors are phenomenal.

Most of my belongings are accounted for, except a series of comics for some reason I cannot seem to find. (Must be in a random box in the closet. Damn.)

And I can see that three wonderful, awesome, supportive and delightful people have decided to purchase my fun (and regrettably somewhat overpriced) book to help support me in this big shift of lifestyles!

Now these people? They know how to help. They see that I have attempted to produce something that can actually go out and be purchased. I'm not asking for hand outs. Though I get a profit from every purchase, they in turn get a funny piece of modern literature with a lot of relevant and often hilarious topics addressed therein.

Not only that, but it was a group project, written with the aid of a few dozen wonderful people, who are all mentioned within and given due credit where credit was whole-heartedly due!

This isn't like the time I sold knives. OR Vacuums. This money goes directly to the publisher, cost of creation and to me. I am not involved in some bizarre writing pyramid scheme, and you won't get some random stranger trying to pitch it to you because 'my car broke down'.

This book is me. This book is pieces of me. It is important to me. Very much. And all I ask is that to those people who cannot get it, tell someone else about it so you can borrow it and read it. Pretend you are buying a set of grade-a knives, except that these literary knives will cut through the outer layers of the Oru and reveal the squishy, pained and elated Oru beneath. Search your heart and your wallet for $30 bucks and read my Journey. I think it's fun. The people who have it and read it think it's alright too.

Please. Join my Journey. Be a part of he Oru, and the Oru shall indeed love you forever and ever. :)

(Not that I don't already, you saucy minxes.)

Thanks.

Oru

Yard Sale Meeting

Today I am having a yard sale. Strewn about the lawn are old clothes, a space heater a lamp, a giant stuffed lion and about a million books and knick-knacks I don't need anymore.

I get a few good hits - jewelry sold, lots of books, a mini-sofa, among other things. Its nice out in the shade, and some people are prone to conversation.

Especially one older gent from across the street. I will call him Gregory.

He spent about 30 seconds skimming the books, and then he lamented that he loves to read but he can't seem to make out the small print anymore.

When there was no one else perusing my wares, he began to speak. And I loved everything he had to say. It began with him overhearing that I was moving south. He mentioned that there will be people that have very strong views, and how he didn't understand how people could be so insecure. His belief was that if you don't like something just walk away!

"I don't really get along with the Hispanics," he began, "But I don't insult them, you know? I go to a restaurant, and there are a lot of Hispanics, I just go to a different restaurant. There's nothing wrong with that. They just make me a bit uncomfortable, you know? I don't hate them, i guess they and me don't mix, you know?"

And then he looked at me. "I'm going to give you a bit of advice. Its good advice. I'm 75 years old you know, and I haven't lived so well that I can tell you how to live your life. You know, I'm not a millionaire, I'm not fancy, I've made mistakes too, you know? SO who am I to tell you how to live your life? My son, he's gay and he has a partner thats a man, and you know, its funny how people will treat him. Sometimes they'll be very nice to him, and other times, you know, I just don't understand people. That's not what life is about. Life your own life. Doesn't matter how other people live, that's them, you know?"

Thank you sir. You are a spectacular human being. I appreciate your existence. I wish there were more like you.

Oru

100 Days of Poetry: Published!

Greetings!

So I released my 100 Days of Poetry! It is available here at AMAZON and then on the CreateSpace Website itself!

The only thing I saw so far that made me face-palm is that the title displayed on the website and the one on the actual cover are slightly different - The website says: "100 Days of Poetry; A Journey of Verse."

The actual cover of the book says: "100 Days of Poetry; A Journey in Verse."

No REAL biggie. I proofread the rest of it about 8 times, so I'm pretty confident the inside is nice and tidy - WITH page numbers, to boot! That was fun to figure out. Converting from .doc to .pdf doesn't bring headers or footers with it, really, so that was obnoxious! Otherwise, it would randomly throw off the spacing, add blank pages and changed my font all the time. *sigh* Ah well - its all good now!

So anyway!
Support the Oru in her artistic endeavors! keep her well fed and housed, for the sake of her wackiness! be as so kind as to purchase a book of poems!

Oru

Poetry, Poetry & More Poetry

Greetings Oruvians

So the Book of Poetry is well on its way! I estimate another two weeks of production, including buying myself the test copy so I can edit or approve it, and sending out those last poems.

So far, according to the website, the book is 220+ pages, including illustrations and commentary, and goes for only $30.00! (Which is great becasue If I allowed this to be sold in bookstores, it would have upped the price by 20 bucks, which I think is ridiculous. This way, yes, it can only be ordered through amazon, BUT at least its cheaper. Good trade off, right? So even if it becomes a hit, I could always up the price and expand to sell through stores.....)

Anyway, yeah also it would only be able to be purchased through Amazon.com and Createspace.com. Not bad, right?

In other news, I have deleted the posts on this blog where my poetry is flashing around! Anything from the 100 days is no longer visible on this site!

Cheers :)

Oru

A Poetry Update

So I've given you guys more then twenty or so poems. I'm making a change, here.

Firstly, I will still be writing a whole poem every day. However, I will only post one once a week for you to see.

I will still be accepting prompts on my facebook page, of course, as well.

But now it is my hope that you have enjoyed the poetry so far, because I plan to publish all 100 of them in a genuine, bon-a-fide, Oru-thology of poetry!

Once the 100 days are complete, I shall compile my works, select a self-publishing tool, edit and arrange (Complete with commentary of course!) And then post the link to purchase right up here on my blog!

I do hopw you follow me on this project, I think it'll be grand!

Oru

BE LIKE HIM

What a beautiful day. Let me tell you why. And it isn't just because the sun is (finally) shining, and its a pleasant, breezy 70-something degrees outside. It isn't because I feel pretty good, and it isn't just because I eagerly await tomorrow's paycheck.It is because today I found further hope for the future of humanity.

It began at lunch. After the prior thirty minutes of deliberating on my lunch plans for the day, I finally decided to spend $4.00 on some Wendy's. I like their cheeseburgers. And their fries are all right. That, and I craved to spend a brief moment outside, just enough to breath in the springtime. So I snatched up my purse and fled to the car to coast the five minutes to lunch.

I was playing some Caro Emerald, namely at the time, Riviera Life. The wait was pretty short, and when I finally turned the corner to pay for my 4 for 4 meal deal (Bacon Cheeseburger, four piece nuggets, fries and a drink - yum) There he was!

Now, when I decide to spoil myself with a burger from Wendy's, there is an 80% chance I am going to get the same guy. He's lean, with blonde/brown/slightly reddish hair with a calm, friendly sort of face. He is a handsome fellow and his eyes strike me as bright, though, alas, I couldn't tell you the color. He's always very polite, one of the reasons I remember him is because he always remembers me. AND all my hair-dos. He offers his complements on them, and that random kindness makes my day! (Regrettably, due to the angle of the sun, and the trajectory of my payment through the window and other such natural obstacles, I have never seen his name tag.)

So I greet him, I pass him my card, he swipes it, and then he leans out and says, "Would it be to forward of me to give you my number?"

...

I'll let you take that in for a moment.

...

Firstly: Bravo, sir, Bravo for being a member of our generation that still has their balls! Ask a random chick at the drive through if you can give her your number? I don't care who you are, that takes ca-hones! ESPECIALLY if they come around all the time and you're going to have to see them over and over again. I remember my single days and getting so tongue tied I never had the CHANCE to ask people out, so being able to speak during the brief and chaotic exchange of a drive-through impresses the hell out of me!

Secondly: Lets just address that phrase once more. "Would it be too forward of me to give you my number?" I could list everything that is correct with that statement.
So here we go.

1. The fact that this man had the class to use that particular wording places him leaps and bounds above more then half of the current population of the world. 'too forward'? Forward!? Used logically, in a cohesive sentence, when addressed to an object of your affection? Am I impressed by this? YES. Had I been single, I would have responded with, "Why yes it IS forward of you, but I very much like that, thank you, so when would you like me to call?!!?!"
2. Too often I have heard the 'Can I get your number' line, that the simple fact that He was willing to hand over his information instead was delightful. He decidedly put the ball (had I been single, etc...) in my court, leaving the decision to call entirely up to me, and thus eliminating the chance at UBER CREEPY STALKER CALLS. It was as if he looked me in the eye and said, 'I think you're swell, and I would call you, but I'll leave it up to you because I'm a gentleman."

Third and Final point of order: He maintained eye contact and a smile, and when I politely told him I had a Love, he looked sincerely and good-naturedly disappointed, making the snapping gesture in the air. I did, however, thank him and offer him a smile, because lets be honest here, who DOESN'T like random ego-boosts? He sighed, nodding wistfully before saying, "Hey, its all right. Just take it as a compliment. See you later!" In other words, he was a damn good sport about the polite let-down.


It doesn't matter where you work, how you dress, what your hair looks like, if you are tall, short, fat, skinny, white black, red, green or rainbow colored. It matters how you ACT. Thank you for making my day livable!

THIS IS HOW PEOPLE SHOULD BE.

BE LIKE HIM.

-Oru

Full Moon

Tonight is a full moon, ladies and gentlemen.

What does that entail? Who knows.

Maybe it is a sign of ill luck to come, a furthering into the hole we're in. The continuous burrowing of panic-stricken limbs. The hurried burying of a body. The burning of evidence, the dusting of grave dirt off of your shoes and knees.... Or maybe its the clawing, clawing, clawing at the basement door, tugging, pulling, straining at the handle, kicking screaming for help kind of full moon. A terror, a panic, a painful lurch, a sudden drop.

Maybe its a good omen. Maybe it is the sign of magic, as if things usually unseen will come out. But that never happens. So, moving on.

Maybe its the kind of full moon that inspires. Its round, shining countenance will lance into the hearts of men, stirring their blood towards ambition! The things left undone will be picked up and completed! Maybe you'll call them back. Maybe you'll finish that project. Maybe you'll keep at it, keep at it, keep at it until finally, to the relief of all, you succeed. Maybe you'll get up off of your ass and fucking do something with your life. Maybe you'll stop feeling sorry for yourself. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe someday all your dreams will come true.

But that never happens either. So, moving on.

Maybe it's just another phenomenon of nature. Maybe its just a moon. Just a big, round moon in the sky.

Man has killed all mystery in this world. So now, its just a giant rock in the sky.

Isn't science fun?

Oru

Onwards, to the Future!

Greetings, friends!

I apologize. It has been some time since my last entry! But for now, allow me to try to fill you in on a few things, shall I?

Firstly; in the very near future, your friendly neighborhood Oru will be a resident of Raleigh, North Carolina! I am actively seeking employment, enjoyment, and engagement in the area, so if any of you fine readers have any suggestions, comments or ideas, feel free to leave me a thread of thought in a comment, or even go as far as to e-mail me or comment on my facebook! Many thanks.

Secondly, I would like to announce the future changes to my blog & fictional blog. Nora Greene has mysteriously disappeared into the bowels of an unknown Gryflin vessel. Whilst searches continue, the blog is temporarily suspended. Once the move is complete I am sure we will have search results to share with you. Also, I plan to begin an actual, postage-stamp-accompanied newsletter, just like in the good old days. However, I plan also to enclose a small serial with it for your enjoyment, as well as any and all pieces submitted by my faithful readers. It won't be anything huge, but a nice little fun thing to enjoy!

Well, that's it for me, readers.

Thank you for hanging in there. Oru

Marilyn Manson "The Beautiful People"

And I don't want ya and I don't need ya Don't bother to resist or I'll beat ya It's not your fault that you're always wrong The weak ones are there to justify the strong The beautiful people, the beautiful people It's all relative to the size of your steeple You can't see the forest for the trees And you can't smell your own shit on your knees There's no time to discriminate Hate every motherfucker that's in your way Hey you, what do ya see? Something beautiful or something free? Hey you, are you trying to be mean? You live with apes man, it's hard to be clean The worms will live in every host It's hard to pick which one they eat most The horrible people, the horrible people It's as anatomic as the size of your steeple Capitalism has made it this way Old-fashioned fascism will take it away Hey you, what do ya see? Something beautiful or something free? Hey you, are you trying to be mean? You live with apes man, it's hard to be clean There's no time to discriminate Hate every motherfucker that's in your way The beautiful people, the beautiful people The beautiful people, the beautiful people The beautiful people, the beautiful people The beautiful people, the beautiful people Hey you, what do ya see? Something beautiful or something free? Hey you, are you trying to be mean? You live with apes man, it's hard to be clean Hey you, what do ya see? Something beautiful or something free? Hey you, are you trying to be mean? You live with apes man, it's hard to be clean The beautiful people, the beautiful people The beautiful people, the beautiful people The beautiful people, the beautiful people The beautiful people, the beautiful people

I Can't Even

I approach this page with a desire to purge. I wish to vomit all my negativity here so that It isn't bothering me anywhere else. I want to scratch at the tabletop until my hands bleed, bang my head against the wall until I go to sleep, run until I collapse, Scream until I have no voice, stare at the sun until I go blind....

Have I told you how much I want the world to be enveloped into a Zombie Apocalypse? I feel like I have. Although if I have not - I think I want this more then I want to win the lottery. Because you see, at that point, the lottery won't really mean much will it? Neither will student loans, car payments, tax deductions, phone bills, electric payments.... All you need is the ability to survive, and the demented idea that bashing someone in the head until their brains fly out everywhere will save your life.

Things would be so much simpler in a Zombie apocalypse. Easier to make friends - easier to get rid of them, too. Social faux pas will be nil if any. (Unless you're a complete moron.) It will all boil down to a good set of running legs, a strong batting arm and a nose for scavenging. No one will care what color, gender, whatever you are as long as you aren't coming towards them with blood on your chin and a hunger for brains in your eyes.

Sure there are the bad eggs. Brutes, bullies, loners.... But in a Zombie Apocalypse, if some asshole tries to steal your food, or the food from a small child, or from a group, all you have to do is beat the hell out of him and send him away. Kick his ass. Present a show of force. Standing up for yourself has never been easier or more urgent. Survival of the fittest. And when the shit gets really tough, save a bullet for yourself. Done.

I wish it was a Zombie apocalypse.

I could be as strong and as bad-ass as I really want to be. I hate the system. These politics and this bullshit society that all of us are slaves to whether we like it or not. I hate it. Hate it. I hate it so much it makes my ears ring. I just want to run away somewhere no one knows me and live in a  hammock on a beach somewhere, or in a tree house in the woods....

And thus I stop making sense.

Oru

2016

Welcome to the year 2016!
According to TimeandDate.com this is the year of the Sheep, on the verge of Year of the MOnkey. (But since according to them, most of the year is in the Monkey Bracket, we're just going to call it year of the Monkey. Fair? Here's another link about Chinese Monkey Years.)

What does that mean? Haven't the foggiest, really. Apparently it just dictates the personality type of whatever child is born in this year. (Which, I hope, is the year of returning manners and better parenting: GO M&F, K&J & L&S FOR BEING THE BEST CONTEMPORARY ROLE MODELS EVER!)

As for me. Hm. The year of the Red Monkey. This will be the year for movement. I am sensing a shift in living space, a direct Southern shift of all my possessions. I also sense a sifting of material possessions, a thinning in the flock of clutter as well. I am feeling on the wind that there will be many many words in my future, typed on the smooth keys of my new apparatus! I sense mailing labels and lots of waiting, but there is also sunshine and new friends on the horizon as well!

I can taste the flavors of freedom, the complete spectrum of a refreshing life adventure: the unknown! Comeraderie! Mystery! Discovery! Adventure! Fun! All of these things I can just touch with the tips of my outstretched fingers! Just beyond that haze of complete uncertainty, abject horror, self doubt, mindless hatred and rage for change (that is as of yet inexplicable) I can see that vast outline, the coast through a fog of a whole new life.

Its going to be great, I know it.