I promise more poetry and the like soon. I'm still catching up from being gone (I guess I do do a lot in a week) and I'm working on my first submission to the Alpha Centauri APA. The submission is an introduction which I am finding quite hard to write. It's not easy to say, "Hello" uniquely so perhaps I should just say "hello". I believe my second 'zine will be much easier to write once I've broken the ice. I'm also finding how poorly I spell and punctuate. Need to take a class or something.

I am doing a lot more diary-like entries of late here on the BLOG which is not what I originally intended this site to be. But things change, and I find myself now wanting to put much of my life and thoughts into words. I need to leave something behind especially at this pivotal point in my existence. "White Rabbit-BLACK HOLE" is truly a living document always changing and becoming new things.

Just finished reading the first two issues of Warren Ellis's "Two Step". I really liked them. Most of his 3 issue series have been lame and "Global Frequency" is okay but no "Transmetropolitan".

Reading Stan Rice's "False Prophet"--powerful, very powerful stuff. His poetry is the kind I aspire to write.

While at the comic shop, I purchased 'Teen Titans Go! #3' for Marinda. It's done in the same format/continuity as the television show and has the same high quality. Definitely something else the kids and I can enjoy together. Hopefully the kids will learn to love comics the way Dad does.

Work resumes this afternoon. Where do I get myself an unending vacation? Not sure which I dread more: returning or the hundreds of unopened emails.

There is a song lyric that I love from the most unlikely of artists: Moby. "I'm trying to protect my humanity. That's when I reach for my revolver. That's when it all gets blown away." Wow. Heavy.

Can't shake the words to an almost-poem out of my head. Not quite sure what will become of this piece, but you will see it again:

I Washed Away

I washed away,
From the sand-sin beach
Into an ocean-of-killers.
The time that distracts me.

And through the slowly opening
doors-of-our-life-together.
I call out.
No, I scream,
"Let my angel live!"
Religion doesn't do me.

And this is how it is:
I would love to love the world again;
for the very first time.

Just before bed last night-right before dream-I realized, I was meant to be a poet.