Once upon a time there was this famous scribe who regaled the cosmos with wonderful words of wit, persuasive and pervasive prose, unparalleled political punditry, wisdom for the ages, and healthy doses of good old fashioned Irish Blarney. This scrivener of all that is noble and honorable has once again appeared out of this otherworldly domain to divert the attention of the masses. This originator of essays, this ink slinger of note, this purveyor of the seemingly mundane unpoetical, and rhymeless elucidation, enucleation, enunciation, exegesis, explication, and exposé returns to the page. Or, for lack of any more big words to use, this lazy assed little and known (but hopeful) dupe is back at the keyboard.
I have been absent before you since prior to the celebration of the birth of Our Lord. I have had time, but little muse. I have spent time in many pursuits of note. Gainful employment, research into the mysteries of the cyber world, waiting with baited breath to see if they were finally going to let Clark Kent fly this season, and attending to the realities of my disintegrating health.
I have delved into the possibility of becoming an amanuensisist in order to supplement my income. I have tried to locate some being with the proficiency and competence to take my words and translate them into numbers that can thus increase the “available balance” section of my bank account. My aptitude in the world of sales and marketing lacks the vim and vigor necessary to accomplish this task. In reality, I could not sell a thirsty man a drink of water if he possessed a pocketful of Benjamin’s. I also do not possess the patience to listen to those of a motivational demeanor who would tell me that it is within me to be everything I wish to be. Anthony Robbins, and Norman Vincent Peale have never been my heroes. My heroes have always taught me that I was sufficient in and of myself. They have also counseled me to know my limitations, like the one where I can’t sell shit.
I have asked those who I know that do, in fact, hold proficiency in convincing people to procure goods and services that might be of an intangible disposition. Like my propensity to use big words that might better be communicated with simpler language. They have declined almost to the man. My Sweet Deifiúr has offered to investigate this situation, and I have faith in my champion.
Alliteration aside, I wish to commune in all that is simple. The path to this gallant pursuit calls for me to continue exercising my fingers and my wit. It cries for me to do battle with the dragon that is my sloth and indifference. I have posted several pieces in the last few days and am just now finding the audacity to report as such. So, my faithful followers, and those who stumble upon it in Etherspace, enjoy.