Words Are Flowing Out

Welcome to the forest, gump. I am the mayor here as it turns out-though I'm unclear when the election was held. Perhaps late last week which was also when I went over having sat in this chair and typed in this space on 2000 separate occasions.

That's a lot of keystrokes, especially for someone who doesn't type well or fast and who, upon reflection, doesn't have a lot to show for all of that. Actually, I'm being optimistic as I think I've earned far less than even Chuckles' epitaph but that's okay in a way.

I took to writing this specifically to reflect in that arch, snarky way I pretend is humor, on events and circumstances , the incidents and accidents in and about where I live in Southeastern Connecticut, Norwich.

"And fearing not I'd become my enemy in the instance that I preached." I've long ago discarded and discounted the #1 rule of finger pointing: three of the fingers on the hand doing the pointing point back to yourself, primarily because it keeps me from balling that same hand into a fist and attempting to smash people who make my hair hurt sometimes with how they are and how they are with one another.

And then I look in the mirror and see The Greater Fool and realize, try as I might, and I do thank you for the use of your eyes (and your comments that help me find my way back) I set out on this road for me and at the end of everyday when I decide if I wish to inflict myself upon an unwitting world on the morrow, I never ask that question weil ich fürchte, ich kann die antwort nicht ertragen. Bis morgen.
-bill kenny