They say from the 2nd time on , you're just chasing the Dragon.

That Dragon took some my family , too many of my closest friends.

I dont plan for their to be a 2nd time

1 of us is going down ,

the 1st time around.

(asper this thumbnail finger of speech sketch, circa score of decades ago – early nineteen eighties).

The brainchild idea occurred to yours truly analogous to ache n barenaked ladies as goo goo dolls flash dancing subliminal images conjured by adult oriented prurient productive private prelate practicing Paganini, (starring Jennifer Beals, and her entourage), which glorious fleeting enigmatic dollop permanently impacts upon unconscious of garden variety beastie boy.

Essentially such unshakable dare devilish deed (to venture northward ho... into heart of New England attested by titled trek) done dirt cheap, and securely insinuated itself into all fifty shades of refusenik within my mind on a whim. A rubber baby buggy bumper quirky ridiculous sketchy tenuous word of mouth, viz scrappy piece of information somehow lodged in mine noggin. An adventurous off the grid vague opportunity gleaned while chatting about off the track none paying opportunities with eldest sister man years gone back. This impromptu banter prompted me to hightail out the humble abode of parents, (awash with biting, insulting, scathing... expletive laced ultimatums against this then unemployed twenty something year old only son), and board the next bus to scenic hinterlands hinting, how grand fabulous escapade diminishes chaos to idealistic pastoral picture postcard pièce de résistance tamping down psychological punishment as fait accompli done deal sashay into so natural made nook. Damn fool me! Hindsight (always 20/20) question to return then home (324 Level Road) repeatedly treating on par as menacing denizen. If then only three plus decades ago (ARGH), this conventional nonestablishmentarian (in duh genes of dis gent) scouted out prospects to test mine unalloyed “FAKE” metal. How convenient perched at advanced age to review unabashedly quintessential opportunities ex post facto. Prone to fixate on forsaken prospects, this garden variety gnome addict grubby grumbling gremlin yanks and tries to wrest free of overpowering magnetic kindled ingrown vise grip upon malleable gray matter.

After an unexceptional, uneventful, unessential blah blah blah voyage journeying along one ribbon of fifty shades grade highway after another, every now and again dozing off into light sleep, the eyes merely fixated on altering imperfect squares framing yawning miles of endless approaching topography. A pleasant ticklish thrill undulated, pulsated, electrified as immense landscape yielded to increased expanses of open country, where quaint picturesque ovations narrated magical lambent kingdoms. Many visual feasts activated illusory oasis of serenity.

Upon arriving tired and hungry as some anonymous Johnny-come-lately newly emigrated to colonial America, nary a blues clues decreed hurriedly pinpointing whereabouts concerning the iconic, homeboy generic fellow, whose first and surname familiar sounding nonetheless unknown, who sporadically, needlessly, and hurriedly communicated with me via snail mail (email not yet pervasive) weeks prior. You dear reader would be smarter than me if intent to make secure arrangement, and established definitive checkpoints between parties comprising mission. Thus, no telephone conversation (confirmation) took place.

Hours or perhaps more'n day late and dollar - short changed initial flight of fancy ecstasy. If only logical, normal, rational...preparatory measures taken... ma bell ledger rant - mama wood da charged ah pretty penny for long distance calls. Since nonesuch actions accomplished, no surprise confessing discomforting intuition percolated within mine psyche, and questioned wisdom justifying such rash foolish bravado (mine). Much ado about nothing since events impossible (at least within our four dimensional world wide web) impossible to undo. Subsequently equally as quickly sense and sensibility came as an afterthought, said after the fact reasonable measure for measure parted ways with pride and prejudice. In other words (not Shakespear's), I immediately realized (just as fast ignored) comedic errors of my ways, and pondered all's well that end well purposeless pointless peccadillo.

Long trailways how Greyhound doth trot, but bajillion tickings of clock later deposited lookalike geico commercial fella to destination unknown. Fortunate timing got me driven by cordial earnest folk, where graves o' dead man (indigenous peoples included) trod found little poetic feet (mine) walking over palimpsest well heeled souls, which pleasant saunter shortly concluded part one of jaunt cobbled together on a figurative nib bullied shoestring.

After knocking about three times upon door of singular pseudo dwelling, the notion dawned said rustic cabin most likely sought after domicile. Here, I lazily passed time eventually returned and appeared to twisted the doorknob, which easily yielded and opened into bachelor pad. Just the ideal place lacking lustrous plumbing amenities aside upon visa vis discovering upon immediate scrutiny. Absence of any occupant(s) found me puzzled regarding any hearty welcome. Lack of reception foretold unpromising intimation in league, which then appeared as my unexpected presence.

Disappointment arose (ex post facto) stemming from quixotic slaphappy madly dashing spontaneous endeavor. All things considered being dumbfounded caught me off guard, poised to strike in search of nearest Herman hermits (no doubt holed up somewhere within Green Mountains), whom nothing could surprise.

Upon reflecting what circumstance found me in this quandary, no bonafied clearcut discussion ensued finalizing gameplan. Never once did I assess soundness of plan. Precautions blithely glossed over. Stickler for plotting out major excursions. Nope, not even questionable shoddy telephone tête-à-tête occurred between this country bumpkin and chap, who purportedly unwittingly (urgh prematurely) ejaculated, shouted, and yelped exploit me! If any exchange arose concerning, what I envisioned as some bucolic, exotic, iconic...within the Live Free or Die also identified as thee granite state, si?

Anyway, alone within quasi wilderness (actually quiet quite appealing) induced absolute zero netted results, how to prevent idle hands easily becoming devil's workshop. Silence stretched into minutes, hours, days... Aye just kibitz with hyperbole, but moments awaiting property brother kept mine keen hearing attuned to indicated arrival of a self import looking person. Eventually return of native son, (a bearish fellow dwelling in cozy cubby hole) found his man cave intruded upon by other than Goldilocks. Even after referencing our scant barely substantial i.e. sparsely worded scrawled notes, perhaps smattering of brief missives fielded thru postal service, he appeared nonplussed, and momentarily seemed at loss to appreciate benevolent arrival of this contemplative dude grubby spartan helot . Even minus any glimmer remembering, recalling, concerning... minimal written contact with me, (he denied, poo pooed, under_scored no supposed casual communique between us), but did surmise with twisted sinister sneer, some productivity, albeit to his advantage. Awareness slowly came to light asthma miniature cogs and wheels flickered with stark revulsion courtesy cosmic consciousness. No courage could be mustered, and neither could access raw bits, the constituent ingredients to make powder milk biscuits be located.

Though obviously unaccustomed to enlisting voluntary grunt work synonymous to armchair globetrotting scrivener devoid of attendant geographic forays. Within a trice discernment awoke mine observation nonverbally enlightening scheming thought processes. Methinks, he sought resolution to farm out tedious chores manageable by (guess who) lost in space straggly wayfaring guy, who fit right in among debris. These frivolous jobs involved mindless tasks utilizing sweat equity gleefully squeezed from this shabbily dressed bummer with unkempt hair swiftly tailored similar to latest finger jammed into power outlet. Thus an embryonic mastermind strategy coalesced wringing out beneficial use of yours truly.

This here dazed and confused looking dude (stymied to find stairway to heaven) passively acquiesced without discussing minor details concerning accommodations, food, money, et cetera, which oversight quickly pitched personal welfare (mine) at mercy of raw stylish elements linkedin with these skimpy muscles adorning lovely bones scored by wear and tear associated with almost couple dozen orbitz around the sun. Suddenly, all thoughts of salvation seemed so far away, unless...just maybe, a wishful yearning occurred to harness supernatural capacity for this hotmail wannabe to telepathically synchronize with Euell Gibbons.

Absent any inquiry, nor feedback clarifying lodgings, sustenance for scrawny excuse for bonafide Homo sapien, I submissively, passively, meekly surrendered self to the dictakes of fellow proletariat, (not much robust than this scribe) to become apprenticed as groundskeeper amidst countless tracts of wooded acres, and sole keeper guaranteeing chainsaw functioned optimally, despite being deathly scared of machine painfully loud to sensitive ears. Home for this doggone impetuous joker comprised a tent pitched away off beaten track amidst lions, tigers and bears.

Long story short, the gambit proved nothing short of slave labor, effectively validated after I landed outdoor job painting finished wood trim work, (a few day's paid stint), and forced to surrender chump change. Inclination to serve as cash cow never crossed mine capital one thinker till then, cuz innocent naive zealot here, and main character of this anecdote never ever contemplated.

An about face found this then neophyte adventurer blithely risking life and limb to thumb back to southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. Majority of drivers angrily sped past this long haired pencil necked geek without second look. Eventually sympathetic trusting souls pulled over (an elderly couple) espying desperado bringing said deplorable basket case one ligament (comprising leg) of Mutt and Jeff journey closer to Collegeville.

One close call with terror awoke sleeping complacency (mine). An intoxicated angry man of color (fifty shades darker darker than melanin) demand I take wheel of unfamiliar automobile. Meanwhile traffic whooshed around us after he stopped his car on George Washington bridge. Furious drivers (man hatted tan - gents) blasted horns, and hurled, nee yelled explicit expletives. Innate Inner global positioning satellite homing instincts (predating implementation of said technology) in tandem with clicking heels warranted urgent accessing excellent outlook to extricate one frightened puppy.

Even if someone would carry me back to ole Virginny, cuz crazy, hokey, okay... random notion popped up, which got me into this pickle your fix. Now Einstein's homunculus needed to repair ill gotten circumstance. All the while cacophony rent coping skills asunder.

Certainly, some harebrained brilliantly divine exit tapping into potential motherlode housing rich heavenly resources. Even mediocre saving grace would ank as more precious than fine spun gold to jumpstart once again an inexhaustible scheme to hatch another deft brainstorm (i.e. superman within me) spelling immediate rescue against threat to life and limb simultaneously mindful maniac did not kill me. Once careering off said highly trafficked critical infrastructure linking outlying bedlam, aye automatically hopped out the clutches demoniacal gruesome hominid, and ran fast as these (then and now) spindleshanks (sorry excuse for legs) plucked to safety applying true grit, I never knew existed within mine corporeal abode.

Deep in the rock formations of Africa lives the Klipspringer (Oreotragus Oreotragus). It has a nimble figure that allows it to be quick and sure-footed. The Klipspringer is a type of dwarf antelope. It is about 2 feet (0.6 meters) tall with six inch short, spiky horns. It weighs on average 22-40 pounds (10-18 kilograms). Its fur coat is stiff and can be a variety of colors such as brown or olive green. The Klipspringer's hooves let it jump 10-12 feet in the air and land securely on the small rocks that it lives by. Its diet consists of flowers, fruits, and lichen. To communicate, especially when predators are in sight, the Klipspringer whistles to other members as a way to alert them. The Klipspringer is am interesting animal that deserves more recognition.

Source: https://animals.sandiegozoo.org/animals/klipspringer

In the heart of North Carolina,

A young woman finds her peace,

Amidst the rolling hills and fields,

Her love for this place will never cease.

The beauty of this southern land,

Is a sight to behold,

From the Blue Ridge Mountains,

To the fields of gold.

The warm embrace of the community,

Is a testament to their faith,

With a love of God and family,

Their spirit will never fade.

The sweet tea and southern charm,

Is enough to make anyone smile,

With a hospitality that warms the heart,

It's easy to stay awhile.

The scent of magnolias in the air,

And the sound of cicadas at night,

The beauty of this southern land,

Is a treasure that is always in sight.

From the sandy shores of the coast,

To the rolling hills of the Piedmont,

North Carolina is a place of beauty,

A place that she can truly call home.

With every breath she takes,

And every moment she lives,

She thanks the Lord for this place,

And the love that it gives.

For North Carolina is a place of beauty,

A place of southern charm,

A place of faith and family,

A place that will never do her harm.

From the quaint small towns,

To the bustling cities with their lights,

North Carolina is a place of wonder,

A place that fills her heart with delight.

The crisp fall air and changing leaves,

The blooming flowers in the spring,

The warm sunshine of the summer,

And the snow that the winter brings.

The seasons change, but her love remains,

For this place that she calls home,

For the memories that it holds,

And the happiness that it has shown.

The people here are kind and true,

With a love that knows no end,

They welcome her with open arms,

And the bonds of friendship they extend.

North Carolina is a place of beauty,

A place that she will always adore,

With its God-fearing community,

And the love that it has in store.

So as the years go by,

And the memories start to fade,

She will always hold this place in her heart,

And the happiness that it has made.

For North Carolina is a place of wonder,

A place of love and light,

A place that she is proud to call home,

And a place that is always in sight.

Formative years whiled away within once bucolic hamlet of Arcola. I feel grateful reelin in the growing up years living within picturesque Arcola. Half a century ago, then said rural enclave comprising about half dozen farms dotted the landscape. Boyhood decades idly lapsed, where yours truly crossed the bridge guarded by trolls. They asked for sweet proceeds purchased a short jaunt to reach penny (once upon time dime a dozen) candy store. Said mecca ideally suited local kids to congregate. Primary usage constituting repurposed old house mainly functioned as sectioned off portion quasi country post office, whereby hubbub older folks met up to chit chat plus satisfactorily, singularly, and adequately stoking, kickstarting, buzzfeeding... gossip monger. Nowadays former generations of Ashenfelter's, Elliot's, and Troutman's of family farms long since industrialized housing headquarters for Glaxosmithkline, Pfizer, and Wyeth Pharmaceuticals, while suburban sprawl (think vinyl city) practically sprouted up like mushrooms overnight. Though long since kicked out nesting coup (lack of wings found yours truly an anomaly among other healthy member viz birth family), I rarely visited picture postcard (think Currier and Ives) boyhood happy non hunting grounds. No matter nary a shred reminiscent of idyllic landscape intact, I treasure precious memories that figuratively swell mine heart and soul with peaceful easy feeling. Prepubescent phase of mine luxuriated wildlands, that witnessed Canadian geese, (I could distinguish their honk that's how) made temporary layover flocking to well secluded pond withal, veritable garden of Eden marsh/wetland. Both parents grew up within urban jungle. Father loathed the city (Brooklyn), but mother throve while reaching maturity, (albeit physical) bound within Coney Island, methinks Canarsie a bedroom community. Both favored raising future (pluperfect) family where more open space offered markedly greater breathing, living and playing room. Thus veritable, impressionable, and formative days of yore steeped within pastoral (reed critical) environment even Ludwig Van Beethoven would approve. Distress (witnessing yours truly teetering on cusp of puberty) arose in part toward radical transformation, viz home turf. Outward change, vis a vis industrialization overlaid charming near pristine woodland plus anatomical metamorphosis ushered whooping psychological hiccups. Once again, a belated appreciation toward parents woke during decades into adulthood. They willfully, proactively, and instinctively, intervened to prevent their sole son withering away to nothing courtesy anorexia nervosa.

These latter days (unsaintly) reflect more self anger at depriving me to experience healthy development of body, mind and spirit. Despite gripped with suicidal pretentions mine corporeal essence remained robust. Never did I suffer the scare of severe medical illness. Nope, not even the flu infected thy susceptible fragile shrinking vulnerable being, which generally fit as a fiddle constitution prompts me to declare such unequivocal assertion. Another reason (aye sup prose) to count my blessings. Nsync with vibrant immunologic system, I managed to avoid any broken bones. As a rather tentative, reserved, hesitant cute little boy averse against risk, et cetera child, no litany of childhood battle scars punctuates a rather unexciting, safe ploy limiting braving gung ho demeanor. Many an emotional debility more than made up (adequately compensated) for common mishaps associated with fancy free and footloose (blistering) innocent early existence. These mental health issues (biochemical, hence congenital) quarks did wreak havoc within academic and interpersonal aspects. Public education (no matter classed as non crowded) presented torturous endeavor. Though mom and dad gravely concerned at nearly failing one after another grade, they raised raised a ruckus regarding abysmal low marks. Yes, their leniency toward my apathy certainly acknowledged now, though fashionably late within thine three score years since birth. These belated kudos also extend to being pleasantly surprised when birthday rolled around. Even when either sibling of mine, (an elder and younger sister) got feted asper notching another orbit around sun, mother also gave the other two progeny, whose special day an approaching or months in the future happening. She once explained, (perhaps even more than one occasion) her reasoning such, that she did not want one or the other kid (essentially both) to feel left out. Yea, I could tout her compassion as feeling thankful for doting (maybe even mollycoddling) this reserved, shy and during adolescence severely withdrawn male offspring. The bounteous trappings lathered lightly all three of us in stark contrast to dirt poor economic household molding predilections ill fate dealt mommy dearest. Disposition evinced toward yours truly (namely myself) would be less pleasant (rather abominable) once chronological arbitrary age of eighteen attained. Rather than adulation, there manifested abomination regarding my lack of motivation, integration, ambition, et cetera. Such unacceptable behavior intolerant, particularly toward mother. She vicariously recounted (and subsequently re-lived) her dismal girlhood, she being the youngest of four children. Morris Kuritsky (maternal grandfather), though learned as a tailor rarely earned adequate income to feed and clothe his hungry and poorly clad brood.

Rectitude with absent filial obligation does haunt me, especially since the two darling daughters I helped beget deeply affected by unemployed parent. Unbeknownst the satisfactory explanation (if any can be found) detailing why grandpa Kuritsky (long since deceased), his idleness most likely differs why Matthew Scott skirted seeking gainful employment, even shoveling horse manure. Social anxiety, (i.e. marked panic attacks) ran rampant and rent asunder one agonizing psyche, who now accepts in utero and/or neurological maladies that plagued most every breathing day since first screaming above decibel of tolerance, yet gratitude afforded personal counseling available in tandem with prescription medication that allow, enabled, and provided peace of mind to cope with cares and concerns of an uncertain world wide web.

Hindsight (always 20/20 versus 20/200 without glasses – bifocals – revisit "Time Enough at Last" the eighth episode of American television anthology series The Twilight Zone) softens harsh edges weathering blistering vitriolic populated ultimatums courtesy those who chose to bring me forth, and bare weaknesses inherent within these lovely bones, no fault of mine iterating insufferable misery. Actually, quite the contrary relationship with father. A widower nonagenarian (livingsocial at retirement community nestled with in sprawling Blue Bell) seems more gentler toward his aging baby boomer heir to the porcelain throne (think glorified toilet), and even sends money. He never assisted this troubled troubadour, when I hermetically sealed myself within safe bedroom. Now without me asking, he provided moderate financial assistance to sustain ten year old 2009 Hyundai Sonata, which original parts conk out one after another. Thank you very much papa.

if it doesn't come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or

fame,

don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don't do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,

don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,

don't be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don't be dull and boring and

pretentious, don't be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don't add to that.

don't do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don't do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don't do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

This is "so you want to be a writer?" by Charles Bukowski. I don't agree with everything the man ever wrote - it really isn't possible for any two human beings to agree on everything, anyway - but this... I liked this a lot, the dig at self-love notwithstanding. I find a lot of similarities between me and him. I'm not alcohol or sex-crazed but I've felt many of the things he wrote touch my soul. And that's what writing is about, anyway. Pulling things out from the depth, whether people notice or not.

And it makes even more sense, the words on his tombstone being "don't try". When I look at it, I see it as him saying people ought to move towards what serves them, what flows in them, what they're passionate about and stop forcing everything. Forcing themselves to like the books and movies and people and lives that they feel they should like, forcing themselves to pretend.

And we all do. We all learn there is a way we should act, no matter how different it is for each of us - until we slowly realise that there was never any need.

All the world is a stage. It needs less puppets. And sometimes, giving up is the only way to find out what actually matters. I don't know exactly why I found myself drawn to being a writer - or why it comes over and over again, even when I have such a case of writer's block that I assume my gift of madness has finally been whisked away by the gods. But I am a writer. And I write. And that is enough.

Also... I recommend Big Magic by Harper Collins. She says a lot of stuff I do not remember right now. Very interesting mind she has and very cool experiences, made me smile cos it's probably the first book on passion and creativity that I have ever (accidentally) read.

Aerosmith titled song “Dude looks like a lady” could aptly apply to myself at times of my life when (with a rail thin physique plus longer than customary hair) overt overtures (concomitantly even subtle covert non verbal body language) communicated sans sexual overtures.

These unexpected silent insinuated sorties resulted in uneasiness, though by no means objection to those persons who found attraction within their same gender.

Blatant demonstrative feral, hormonal gonadal glomming, I journaled. Kickstarting lay (leaning lengthwise led legitimate leeriness), when levied libidinal novel, primal quintessential real sexual tell tail aspirations found me propositioned without intent to harm the ambition of no particular male in question.

Though a supposition that a slight physiognomy (more so until prescription pharmacological medication side effects contributed to minor weight gain of late) with mine longish wavy mane (per locks of lovely hirsute nonconformist trademark) influenced those who share the xy chromosomal genetic designation.

Unbeknownst to this now middle aged mwm (with two no see 'em daughters) became aware that physical attraction asper those comprising approximately half the gender population initially gave discreet communiques bespeaking adoration.

The total recall really beckoningly communicated, directly enunciated, and opportunistically pegged when I enrolled at Antioch University located within the hamlet of Yellow Springs, Ohio.

Matriculation at the aforementioned college (decades ex post facto when the number of burgeoning attendant students in tandem with pro-active political activity long since subsided) opened thine myopic eyes to variegated relationship less common within the non-academic general public arena as happens to be the case today.

Although unfamiliar with any Gay experiences until setting foot on the Greek named storied campus (factual, literal, and substantial bona fide indisputable truths flourished averring) proportionality between students courting, favoring, identifying liking only representatives uniting with zings between explicitly humans interested in jousting kinetically, kissing lascivious, and lovemaking merrily per same unbridled XX, or XY adult.

Hove toward this atypical acceptance, confluence, and essence floundered green behind the ears yours truly, whose preference for gallivanting found me pitted between an unforeseen awkward scenarios, which especial favor glowing hormonally identifying, justly kneading, and lowing magnanimously not played quite respectfully.

Temptation underscoring vibrant wish yielding absolute boneheaded clumsiness, didst expel forwardness guys hankered irrepressibly jacking limp male member namely property quintessentially touted, urinated, and venerated viz yours truly.

At figurative regarding being courted, flirted, and invited to “visit” boudoir of whatever gentleman (since only positive appellations agrees with me), I oft times blurted out a rather banal, dismal, and infernal response louder spoken than necessary.

These frequent gustatory intimations (just keenly loosed) manifested notion of pretend; quixotically randy, seductively trendy, and unconditionally ventures with xmen yearning zealously after bulging dick.

Not one soul every become privy to this honest to diggity dog drive in move veiled within a cloaked disposition.

Also as a added bit of tangentially related tidbit, I became wrought with detecting when and/or if seminal scent sanctified me as a boytoy.

Evansburg National Park (located within north of central Montgomery County, Pennsylvania) constituted a warranted, and den of thieving magpies for phallus fulfillment.

This gambit discovered visa vis mastercard, when said protected lands a favorite getaway from verbal whip-lashing of me octogenarian widower papa and long deceased mother.

Similar to other such as Elks, Knights of Columbus, Knights Templars, Masons...some assigned coda emitted grounded instantaneous kindled messages.

When living non social with parents, this above named preserve found me acquiring requisite peace of body, mind, and soul, particularly (as already briefly iterated above) when inxs of unbearable tension nearly asphyxiated this beastie boy, who high tailed his scrawny ass to the most out of way and remote parking space within thee Evansburg designated copse.

At least one occasion witnessed (much to my dismay) the fortified, glorified, honored indemnity letting many other prickly, quirky, randy sons of fathers that a newbie (myself) unwittingly chose a pastoral parking space, which (fast as greased lightning) emitted excitability, horny, kinky, et cetera invisible signals despite the fact that not one iota of ambition for salacious, promiscuous, and mindless jacking off did/does not suit this casual fellow.

As a generic guy who stuck to the straight and true, nonestablishmentarian ruminations find no objection with consensual sexual hot pursuit, I espouse that natural predilection prevails that fancies and fantasies tantalizing persons to speculate on touching, tasting, smelling, seeing, and hearing the orgasmic throes of a similarly en gendered kept on the que tee lest unexpected repercussions find the man or woman risking to share such tabloid grist, would be ostracised from their community.

The best writing advice I've heard from multiple authors, teachers, and lovers of art- write unapologetically. Write from the heart, stories that are true enough to feel but false enough to make you dream, the things that would cause a ruckus at the family reunion...that is the kind of writing that moves the soul. The kind of writing that people dissect for decades, that people know how it makes them feel yet they can never really put it into words...