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Obligatory pre-publication post: oh, I do hate the world wide web. I hate reading on screens, I hate staring into the artificial glow, I hate the idea of a blog and I hate the idea of putting a book out into the marketplace like a pork belly or a ball of string. Emily Dickinson had it right: write and yearn and write and yearn and stare into a handful of violets and leave behind a desk filled with verses bound in twine and breathing wide. If I actually took the advice inside my book, I would toss my laptop out the window and run far far away to someplace I could not even imagine if described. But here I find myself, firmly rooted in the last days of the Second Dark Age, and the world wide web is not yet fully censored, so I shall resign myself to occupying a small dark corner of the web with a word or two now and then. The Great Devastation will be upon us soon enough, and my laptop will not even be useful as a source of warmth, so I shall continue to fiddle with it a bit as the earth prepares to burn. And so, I suppose that one concludes a blog entry such as this with a bon mot or two, or perhaps an escape route to a better (or at least a different) place. An invitation, then, to follow me across this ill-spun web into the mysteryhouse. But a few words of advice: don’t let your toes get tangled in the filaments. And watch out for mummified flies. |