I started a new project. It has consumed me... Eaten me whole. It has taken on a life of its own, and now I have this living thing in my grasp, and I am trying like hell to not squeeze too tightly. It twists and turns and dives of its own volition. It's a helluva ride. I have been going back to Bukowski quite a bit for inspiration. This poem in particular has been resonating:

"How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 8:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so? "

I'm working on it Chuck... I'm getting closer every day.

Today, the zero of you that read this are going to humor me while I ramble on about one of my heroes. The one and only Thomas Ruggles Pynchon.  (Seriously... I have no idea where this is going. Initiate ramble... NOW.)

What I do for a living, I do with words. I'm a hack, but I'm a hack that loves his tools. I have an affection for them. I appreciate it when language is used effectively. It doesn't matter to me if the words are spoken, written, sung or read... I love 'em. 

Thomas Pynchon is a kung-fu grand master word slinger. He is as good as it gets. His name belongs alongside the greats. Hemingway, Murakami, Gibson, Le Guin, Neruda... In his own way, he is every bit as powerful as anyone who has ever picked up a pen. (read more...)