disclosure

Dear friends,

My thoughts of late have turned inward, toward the depths, a roiling, but not in the tumultuous, indiscriminate sense, rather that of the fiery kiln, inarticulate, again, not dumb but visceral, prelingual, magma, of my being, directed thus by the elastic recoil from benighted months of self-imposed self ignorance.  The results of this turning, themselves commensurately deep, have renewed my confidence and inspired me to put into words my public manifesto, comprised of every revelation and insight gained through introspection that I feel needs to be shared.  Behold:

crust

Salutations and greetings from this side of a long absence,

The best part of any meal, should that meal contain it, is, by far, the cranberry sauce.  Some may suggest this is a debatable fact, given, to name just two potential objections, personal tastes and the varying quality of available cranberry sauces.  However, through years of dedicated meditation  specifically about this subject, I can say with conviction and without equivocation that, to the truly enlightened, there is no valid argument against the superiority of this resplendent dish of deepest vermillion ambrosia.  Full elucidation of the proof is left for future generations of philosophers.  With that out of the way, here is a very short story about despair:
On his last day in the nation of Iceland, Timothy the Wild did little different from all his other days in Iceland.

Valedictions and farewell,
walter