It's A Big Blogiverse, But *That* Big Seemed Unlikely

At least one other person does Get It. --The bizarre way I write that is. The man droppped me a note, even. (Oh, I am so fine. Fine-ish. Oh, I'm adequate. Ha-ha ha haaaah hah, some one will reeeead this).

So there! Search 'bots, scoot over. More germanium, anyone?

[Sources of my style: A) Mostly and foremost, the noise inside my head; my internal monologue is sort of a frog in a blender, swimming like mad to keep out of the blades. Crossed with the nightly news as read by H. L. Mencken. B) Spider Robinson at his most. C) John (OMG, that's... people do that? Willingly? But the boy can write) Rechy's City of Night. My old apartment, some years back, was right on the edge of that city and at least I read the guidebook. The rents are cheap, the bars all get one star or less. Earplugs are mandatory and it pays to not look into shadows. D) Sylvia Plath. E) Precisely three of Samuel R. Delany's short stories: mostly Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-Precious Stones, plus Driftglass and We, in Some Strange Power's Employ, Move on a Rigorous Line. D) Howard Philips Lovecraft, the man did not write turgidly all the time. Don't like that list? Not my problem!]
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