words, language and innovation is available on amazon
If Kerouac had a laptop and good wifi. And me, with all this genius and no fame. Or money. Damn, that’s not right.
Intellectualism does not pay the bills, but it entertains the customers at my job. Wit that often gets me in trouble. How far do you push? Do you take the killer punchline? Or leave it unexpressed and pressing against your sternum?
I let it out. I channel that fucking energy into my Mskchdlockey’s Flow. I flow baby. This, like jazz or smooth jazz, streams in your mind’s eye through your eyes or ears, connecting like a radio signal or a taser lead shot at your chest. Here, then I give voice and song and prayer to the god of my choosing, me.
Oops, sometimes the truth slips through.
Writing about yourself is a full-time job. It doesn’t pay much, but the overthinking and introspective hand-wringing make it worth it, for sure.
I’m sticking a bottle rocket into the orifice of literature and standing back with a bowl of popcorn. Are you here for this shit? Are you picking up the thread? Monofilament so rare it glows like diamond sparkles in the now smoky library. The explosion is still ringing in your ears. We are one, together, entwined
by words.
book < available
