One thing I can tell you: I lost my work. 500 plus words… all gone. I even found a nice sketch of a beer bottle… it complimented the work. I was writing about wanting a beer! And, yes, there are those moments of weakness Ihave when I WANT a damn beer! It is a guy thing. My father, on the other hand, can have a couple of beers with a meal, and he is done.

That is NOT my case! I will drink a CASE of beer before I say I am done. And then I will continue with cheap vodka & the progression of alcoholism will grasp its disgusting fucking fingers on me. & I will be in an emergency room, screaming my sick head off, and wondering where & how I got to where I am. All the confusion… all the pain… all of ALL OF IT breaking any & all good things I have been working towards.

But, trust me, Dear Reader, I picked out a good poem to start a good & long piece of prose…. with a good illustration to boot: it complimented the damn work!

It really did!

Now: back to the world:

I did the feeding early today.

And I did it alone.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: Leland Locke lost his work for the third time tonight. What you have just read is a dead-leaf echo of what was written two-hours ago. He is NOT happy. And the End-Of-The-World feeling is VERY real to him.

Nothing is worse than losing Work.

An Underwood Typer is better than a lap top.

Now, As Editor, I will find the mangled & rummaged & confusing mangled frame of A Word Document that is this column.

Be patient, Dear Reader, it’ll be worth it.)