chalekam

There. No longer. Thank you all for reading me. Farewell.

So... I write better than i organise words in my mind to speak. Tend to give the ole lip free reign. The result is unfiltered and mostly satirical humor. Or very droll puns. But then who doesn't find their own jokes amusing? Where is any of this all going? In novels you get a railway sense of buildup, of direction towards something. A map of words and images you are led to like or dislike pre, mid and post crescendo. Movies have more or less the same gist. Songs. Comic books. Its all story. It's the same story. Life wears different rules unfortunately. Mine has been a see-saw of extremes. A summation of it would read something like a post credits scene script: mired with suggestion. Innuendo. Yes that word to its last letter! So to explain this picture. A caption would read "me and a son that isn't mine but looks identical to me in every other way possible." Or something catchier. But that would be sugar coating the simplicity of human similarity in appearances, coincidence and self absorbed photogeny. Its a pic of me and a small boy who adores me. Nothing more. How can you express everything without losing perspective? You can't! It's either too breif, too detailed or both. So... I AM. Still addicted to writing prosaics. Things ain't been too good lately, but I have faced worse. Chin up, and back into the fray. Like only a Chaleka/~Anon~/...can. Thank you all here for giving me the most valuable gift of all: You.

Introspective. Im lost and i know it. But i also own it. Still coming to terms with my loss, my abandonment and werckless abandon. Errant. But determined more than ever to complete my destiny, fulfill my proohecy and overcome! Lo. I AM.