Ages and Ages of Pages and Pages
I haven't been here in a while.
Once again, Blogger has changed their interface and it makes me question the whole ritual of my outpouring in this space.
It may be ending. It feels different.
I've been gassed and the proverbial pedal has been floored for many a month, now. The greater Renfrew County, or rather Barry's Bay, has seen me haunting its many nooks and crannies. I am an official small-towner with a camera, a notepad and a recording device.
Watch your asses.
I'm liking the region. It's small and it all shuts down at about 9 pm. The streets get quiet enough to resonate the sound of an ash hitting the pavement from a freshly lit Honey T.
It feels good to write with no mandate, script, cutlines, attribution or quotes. My words are connecting with the laminar flow of the water-based world and the fluid of my verbiage is becoming one with the ever-adapting liquid of the planet.
The fuselage of advertising and public persona blasts into the stratosphere as I write, here - and the real me emerges. Sunward.
Places like the Wilno Tavern are an inspiration, cut jaggedly from the rock of the countryside.
I don't really know where I'm headed. I'll be the first to admit it.
Life feels to be at a giant crossroads and I stand on the precipice of something much larger and greater than myself.
I am in the office...and I need to get back to work.
It feels good to write.