The gift of language: miracle and catastrophe.

Like many spiritual leaders, he had a far higher asshole quotient than one would have expected from his public persona.

We spent the next two decades holed up on the Cape in a drafty pink ranch house where I slammed out hundreds of short stories for low-paying sci-fi pulps. As it turns out, financial ruin and amphetamines make for a powerful muse. For a time we had a side line raising mushrooms in our basement, but it never paid off. That period finally ended when a collection of my writing marketed under the title The Unsound Mind of L. Rand Steiner met with modest success.

Listen—I never really made it out of there. The kids gave up on me long ago. Ann and I no longer speak. There’s a bad feeling lodged deep in my chest. The last time we spoke my son looked me in the eye and said well, Dad, it’s been weird. I didn’t know if he was saying goodbye, and was afraid to ask.

Things seem to be picking up at the shop.
Three jobs today.
Total billable hours: .75.
Thy will be done.

In the dream a doctor told me I was going blind. I ran out into the street, just seeing.
In total, these pictures represent three seconds of my life. Maybe some day you’ll find them. My three seconds. My last will and testament.

The sole perspective that I may have, that you may not have, in your privileged existence, is of time.

With a year of hard work my project has grown from grandiose fantasy to lackluster reality.

Life lessons so far:
1) life
2) life

As he struggled up to greet me, even with his belt cinched so tightly it nearly cut him in half, his pants fell down. They had nothing to hold onto. To this day I remember the look on his face. Apologetic; afraid he’d embarrassed me.

In retrospect, you never had a chance. You didn’t have the resources. You didn’t have the tools. And as you feel yourself going under, you just want to sleep.

Always never not letting go.