I lied.  Im here now, working on Polyester. (my fourth book Release, see the other three here)  "The Ghost In You" came on my playlist, and it all became too ironic.  So I started going through some material I have that has yet to find a home in the bigger picture of this writing, of this work, and its just all kinda funny to me.

   Initially, I set out to write a handbook, something very different in format and delivery.. but the draft im working on now definitely has all that, except its morphed into a story which represents something very different in the sub plots.. something about secret apartments, and owning multiple Victorian homes, and how to handle Senators and lobbyists that refuse to financially back your projects, and what to do when all the lab rats die, and how to deal with your security teams when their fed up with your shit, when they're tired of guarding your locations, and just what to expect when the price of diesel fuel goes up, and what to do when you have a shipment sitting in one of the garages that needs to go.. Today.  Don't get me wrong, there's still a ton of lament, and death, and sadness, and anger from beyond the grave, and people existing on the other side, and the cities they build in eternity... theres still alot of THAT.  theres still alot of poetic writings about living lovers sleeping at their deceased one's mausoleums, and what it must feel like to watch the procession of your own funeral, and being inferred to a crematorium and all that shit..

its one of those things where its like, this is either going to be received very, very well... Or im just going to look and appear as crazy, -if not more insane than i've ever been.

fuck