First and Last

My own private pool of youth. Served chilled, in a clear glass.

The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through me --its past, its ancient soil, its changing climate. The hills gently girdle about it, its course is fixed.

-Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer



It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

I ended my two month journey through Miller's Tropic of Cancer this morning in bed. I was handed a copy of Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities last night and told to get reading, which essentially is what I have been doing all day, besides a trip to the local franchise for a frap, and a smoke. Lovely day.

Why bother? That's my attitude towards this little spec of code among the wash of text out there. Low's, the name says it all, started in desperation, a competition if you will, one that I lost of course. Also an experiment to see if anyone would be interested in a blog written by a male. My gostats reveals the results of that test quite willingly, average hits per day: 2. Doesn't matter if anyone is reading really, probably better that way, just gets a little boring and indulgent at times. So onward we go, I guess, until perhaps this site becomes a grave, like so many other dead blogs I have found out there while googling, the last post reading like an epitaph, its author never realizing that they are writing their last entry. Its like a loved one that walks out the door and never returns.

Don't worry my 2.5 readers, my three J's, I will continue on a little longer. But the nature of this site must change, my journey has ended, and a new one will begin, but not one that I am willing to share so freely. So I thank you all for dropping by on a regular basis, I have enjoyed rolling my blue collar vocabulary off your tongue. For now I will return to bed, with my book, and read some real writing.