In Response...

Yes, it's been a long time, but I haven't forgotten about you! School and personal freakiness has kept me away, but I have scribbled some ideas for posting that I'll complete and throw up here sometime soon...

So in response to those naysayers, I ask you....


kiss my what??

Outlines

It was a crisp and clear day, with a sense of whimsy in the air as well.

Sometimes the shadow is all we know; an outline of who we are in the moment, who we were before, or the potential of who we might become...

Happy New Year to everyone! Here's to the future my friends, whatever may come to pass...

Introducing 'bn'

I'd like to take a moment to introduce one of our writers here at the night boat, a fellow traveller known 'round these parts as bn. As you can see from the photo, he is quite the little George Seurat. Rarely seen outside of the boathouse, he tends to be shy at first, but later reveals a truly warm side... a great lover of his privacy, he will seclude himself in his little corner of the kitchen until he's downed one of several daily cups of tea and dunked a pack of biscuits (and assorted other crap dunked in said tea), then emerge, triumphant and ready to tackle any obstacles thrown at him! He often exercises his writing craft by playing text twist online as well as dictating long e-mails to his secretary. Never responding to the name 'Ramu', he will nonetheless spend countless cheerful hours cleaning and doing laundry. Unless he can get someone else to do it for him.

We all want welcome him to our little space here in BlogLand and encourage him to post more!

Pesky floaty dreams

Train Yards
In this dream, there is nothing straightforward or traceable, only rusting rail tracks in a trainyard, lined up in a row, but to what junction or destination; the cars are connected together and with a hitch and sigh, move forward.

There's this idea of obsession in reaching our destination, or finding absolutes in our heart. The Powers That Be have confiscated the greatest minds of our generation, then locked them in a windowless room to slave over the end of Pi, numbers clicking by, pens scratching at carbon copies, tearing through and hands starting the process over. Scurrying fingers and corners curling on the edges of the forms, the door swings open into the room for the first time in God knows how long, stirring dust and moving gazes... what is out there? Still, no one moves... I am not one of those minds, but I know the smell of the air... it is suspended rain, and the turbulent Atlantic...

good job

get it done quickly...hopefully should be up and running by the end of the year.