This is the year I kick off this careful-adjectival project. It’s written by IA. I a the only one wrinnen it… uh rin… rin… wrinnen it in to a wrinten thing! That sentence is like a human lip print. Now you know I’m not lying.
The first thing I need to do is to say thank you to my benefactor. He was the only one willing to allow me the space to make my comeback attempt to once again attain near relevance. So, let’s hear it for Arthur!
This year Arthur is born. He is an author. Another author among many morethors that so populate the word-typing space. Yet he should be easy to remember because his name is Arthur.
But he is not pleased with me. He cringes at the headline. This is not the sentiment he wishes to convey, he says, this is a new year, a very fraught year – a subject we’re not touching yet – and I want to only express caring and kindness to all. Not weird choppings of grey matter. I paraphrase.
I haven’t known him long but for as long as I have, I have observed that he is nearly painfully shy. He nods in approval. And he wants to make clear up front… a sort of what?.. A purpose…? No… A creed(?)… uh.. an animating principle-ish. Okay. Apparently that will do. And this is it: He wants you to know that he doesn’t think he has anything to say. He only wishes you to pleasantly vibrate.
But here’s the rub (thank you, Shakespeare). He’s been thinking some about what it is being featured on this here site in his name and how a lot of it offends its arthur.
It’s complicated. I’m only on my third post back since being a re functioning member of the public-facing. So I’m going to turn this over now to my benefactor, Arthur, please take all the time you need:
“Thank you. This here new year might be the moment to start writing more pleasant and positive offerings. Leave a legacy of trying not trifling. I feel this way because if anyone bothers to go through those doors below, except for a few strategically placed footprints aimed to appeal to those seeking beauty, they’ll find rotted teeth… hags being drowned to see if they are witches… cows being picked at by crows while stumbling to the slaughter… a sociopathic rabbit fetishist… a bitchy arthur dropping tears into his beer, imagery of fear and morthor…
I didn’t set out to be Hieronymus Bosch in words. It just happened.
There are some nice moments but for the most part I fear the excesses outweigh the intent. They don’t reflect well my aspirations or, to be uncomfortably cliche, my values. I do fight back occasionally.
barking like nonsense vibrates through the window panes… crime tape surrounds me but i prefer to love. flowers. puppies. golden sunsets. name it. i’m not somber.
And I’m not. But, since most of these offerings, to me, are aged and bemused, I picture me as someone else bothering enough to read through bits of this, I might think ‘It must be hard being that guy. With all of that in his head he hasn’t killed himself yet?’
Why would he, Hector? It sounds like the author is going to hell in a fruit basket.
If I were ever put into a position of having to defend myself and decided to testify I would first say that some of the funnest lines to pop into my head are often the cruelest. e.g. All of K Baffled Asterisk is a fucking downer. The fact that it’s parody only helps marginally. Maybe it makes it worse.
I hope there are some indicators sprinkled about that point to what I really mean.
This site is new and presently its halls are kind of filled with several of the oldies. Perhaps there will be new stuff coming that no one will read as well. Bloog Mandrake is here to oversee that that gets done. We know he hasn’t shown a lot yet but he is just getting settled in. He has the faith and backing of the entire family that he will turn this franchise from zero views to ten views in under a year.”
Thank you, Arthur.
I wish the world of well-being on anyone who stumbles upon this. My holidays began strangely alien and find waking up into this ice cracked year one of resistance. I’m pretending I’m a reflection of you.” – Bloog Mandrake
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