I rarely have excuses of any merit when I need them in any manner. That seems to be the harmony of communal thought upon the quality of my excuses. Explanations for failures being a sign of a flawed character one might wonder why I have not amassed a treasure of them but let's just let that go because, in this matter, I have no excuse.
All will be made whole, a wormy apple but still intact, after this entry. Decidedly, it has been a protracted length of time since I last wrote in this preposterously fatuous blog. I make no bones. I attach no flesh upon those bones. I am... inert.
First, I have a... femoral to pick. Why in the name of the goddess Ananke do I desire to write a book just as my faculties begin to fail me? What is the justice in having such a large allotment of one's childhood spent in learning the fundaments of grammar only to have them escape one's grasp at the very cusp of the moment when their best opportunity of wise usage arises? That unseen villain of fate drives a remarkably agile and heavy bus in my direction, regardless of my attempts to follow the street signals of safety. My crosswalk is unclear, my time more important but less abundant. It is all there in plain view.
My eyes are not what they used to be. No matter the ocular lens I am given, all is a foggy battle for focus. I look down and half of the scene is of clear hairs standing upon my arm and the other half but an amusing cacophony of impressionist subject that not even the vacuous nature of modern day artists would touch. Though Monet was fairly blind when he did some of my favorites, those large panels, the ones that go beyond canvas and creep into one's vital being, I have some doubt my own impairments will lead to more than unspectacular result.
My, but it is a bitter wormy apple. I must attempt to lighten the veil of extenuation if I am to make it all whole to you, my dearest reader. You, I have perceived, are quite the dogged pursuer of sense in nonsense. I think it so admirable that I must think of some way to repay you. I have noticed your efforts. I will attempt to allot long distance dedications as my short time of span permits. Though keep in mind, that I cannot touch the soul of everyone who follows foolishly into the abyss of rambling discourse. Perhaps I should hold a lottery for dedication...
You deserve more. Yes, you are here.. towards the end... with bells on. I humbly bow to your pluck. Oh, dizziness, I must finish...
