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Stagnation in overdrive

I can't seem to drag up the energy from the depths of my apparently barren artistic soul enough to make a decent entry, so whoever reads this - and your numbers will be alarmingly small, I suspect - will just have to make do.

In other news, I drove down a common thoroughfare in hometown Tyler this weekend and something hit my windshield. I say something because I don't really know what the hell it really was, but suffice to say, it had the strength of at least a small branch, and the smashing power of at least a golf ball. The wind was gusting at an insane pace, so I really didn't get a look at it amid all the horizontally flying pine cones and tree gumballs.

But I'm okay, so at least there's that.

It still sucks though.

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Ever find something you did a long time ago and realize that you don't remember doing it at all?

No? Then I guess I am alone. Again. Naturally.

So I was just looking through some old Word files when I came upon what looks to be a fabulous opening to a short story. Check it out:



Jimmy Blasewell stood behind the counter, eyeing the scraggly dude in the worn Army jacket down the chip aisle.


That's all there was in the Word file. Now I'm pissed that I never finished it because that's a story I'd really like to read.


Lord help me but it's time to write at length about a subject no one but me, Paul Simon and possibly Rick Springfield care about. I'm surprised no one's covered it; there's not a lot of awareness about it quite frankly. But if I and two certified legends care about it, there's no doubt that it deserves to be discussed.
At length.
So here we go: ****redacted****
Thank God it's out there now for everyone to see. No turning back now.