SO ARE YOU INTO THIS YET?
ARE YOU HEARING ME?
ARE YOU OUT THERE?
AM I CONNECTING WITH YOU?
I just can't stop writing - it's a fever, a bug. I'm looking back to
some of my earlier rantings, in my trusty online notebook here,
and I really can't believe alot of the shit I wrote. I mean...wow.
Sometimes, in this postmodern vortex we call North America,
especially within writers I like, writers often use profanity and
useless sex-craved computer jargon to attract attentionor
draw out a shock response from the reader. Well, shocks
are all good and fun, but they only usually last for a splitsecond,
and while that electricity sure surges through
the veins and blood and inner body systems and hops you
all up on goofballs, it's all said and done pretty quick.
Now don't get me wrong - I'm game for cusswords and
I can swear a blue streak with the best of them but I
find expletivism to only be effective WHEN it is used
to drive home a point. This requires using and relying
on those words much less, because in all honesty,
no matter what morality you cling to, they really just make one
sound dirty and uneducated when they're used in excess.
Shock is a useless writing tactic only used to elicit aresponse -
but to say something of substance and depth
and really draw out a genuine reader response is a much
more sophisticated craft. Leave the shocking to the
suppressed writers who've spent all their lives as altar boys
and church elders and have years of repression to get
out. They need real therapy - not publishing deals.
So that aside, where were we? Ah yes. Stranded in Long
Beach. I have decided to cut some chunks out in the
next few segments to catch you up to speed, and also
because the whole story would really be kinda boring
and lengthy - and what I've written is lengthy enough as it
stands.

So Angus was well down the freeway, and in retrospect, I
really wish I had asked for a phone number or email.The
dumb things we wish we had done. Oh well. I slung
my gunny sack over my shoulder, wearing my non-descript
earthtone shirt and cargo pants, I headed south down the strip,
doing my very best to blend in. I realized that as I had either
bussed or trucked my way to get to where I was, the weight
of the tent in the gunny sack was becoming a burden quickly.

So stay tuned. Don't touch that dial. Thanks for reading
all these letters, by the way. I really appreciate it.