In the beginning were the words with which to write or die trying, as within the incurable romantic’s lexicon there lurk innumerable possibilities to apply love’s vocabulary. This process fully achieves when at least two people can read or hear and absorb those words simultaneously, for only then will the results reach credibility without lapsing into a morass of the meaningless or trite.

 

But sometimes of direst necessity my sentiments cannot be couched in trappings either soft or the least tender, as there are seminal occasions when no words carve so well as those launched off the tip of a blood-tempered blade in the midst of a magnificently thundering emotional storm.

 

Welcome to my precipice overlooking this version of here. Should it not feel too cozy or like the old homeplace it’s because I’ve successfully shifted you outside the neutral comfort zone, which all artists nefariously have as our ulterior motive.

 

So I’m truly excited for you, as some rather delightfully interesting twists, turns, switchbacks and surprises abound whenever one dares meander down any of my rambling paths, which aren’t always through blood and thunder. Now grab a glass of wine and wade with me into the river of life. Take my hand and off we’ll go, leaning into the current of whatever is next coming our way…