So this is the first time I have been published in about 10 years. I do essays and poetry and blah blah blah. I have been known to ramble, and like Nostradamus, when you make 5000 vague predictions, at least 5 will end up being good. Whatever the case, anything online isn’t my real stuff because I am going to horde all my stellar writing, never really gel it, or have a clue how to handle the accumulated mass of concepts and revolutions in thought. Or that might just be a delusion of granduer. I plan to die on top a pile of writings that will change the world, but will probably be just tossed asunder as some point in time, used as firelighters.
The pathetic part is that I am ghostwriting for a close friend who somehow fell into the gig, and writing about a festival I didn’t attend (OutsideLands) for a magazine I don’t read (High Times). So odd. Ha. How I ever ended up with a friend that got me in that situation is beyond me. It was too late to get a bi-line, but you know what? I would have payed not to have it attached, so all is well.
Tell me – can you tell it’s Fishbitsian? He fed me his schedule and what he did. Fun times. Credit to another friend, who likely doesn’t want to be named, for proofing it all journalistily.