Harlan Ellison will always be a fucking legend on answering that famous question that, as time goes along, seems to be asked fewer and fewer times. He would always say his premises came from Schenectady. There's an idea service there that, if you pay them twenty-five bucks, they'll send you a fresh six-pack of ideas.

He was always dismayed when people asked him for the address of the service. 

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I've come to think about life and death, the tiredness that comes from existence, the fading of friends, the rising of absurdity, the expanding of stupidity, and the feeling of not being up to snuff yourself. It kills me that my soul sister, EQM, will be forgotten. I'm not too fond of that I'll be forgotten. But that's the way how it goes, y'know?

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Two months have passed like two weeks as your departure darkens into the abyss of the past. Time always feels like it zooms when you're older. The first and ninth of the same month feel only a day apart. I don't mind this so much. Not much you can do about it. But when I think about how quickly you're being left behind—it stings.

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Let me begin this gang by saying that I'm okay and, regardless of what happens, I'll be alright.

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Hey gang.

Sorry for the lack of updates—though I doubt any were expecting an apology on that.

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Phoooew! Is that the sound the mouth makes when it's blowing air? Or is that more so the sound one makes when something smells terrible? There are people with the talent of rendering sounds into letters that then evoke those sounds. Like writing dialogue with a character who has a mouthful.

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I couldn't tell you why death is so much on my mind. But it's been attacking me more and more lately. Not so much the concept itself. My actual death. The feeling of it coming soon and whatnot. I want to begin the blog by saying, hi gang, yes, I'm alright, doing decent, not in, anyway, sort of harm.

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Asking for this new story coming out, which is a long one, that I will either release all at once—or chapter by chapter.

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I tried writing two blogs before this one in the usual tune of pretending that I knew what I was talking about but, as the words carried on, and the one wasn't in tune, I decided to cut the blogs before going too deep. Each was an advice piece about writing a scene outside your main plot as to make the world of your story more lived in.

But my heart wasn't in it.

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