The only difference between insanity and genius is success— (Said by a Bond Villain)

I apologize for my recent lack of posting.

I have been writing the Great American Novel. It might not be great in the eyes of most readers, and it will probably horrify my mother, but it comes from the stink from my soul.

Lately, I have had to censor my soul, but don’t worry, there is a lot of offensive poetry backed-up on my word processor, like a septic tank that needs to be pumped.

All of the shit will get posted in due time (Don’t Worry!)

In the meantime,

I have to post the fluffy stuff—even that upsets my mother, which brings me only a little joy in comparison to your comments and likes.

If it wasn’t for you (loyal followers) I might’ve stopped writing, altogether, but lately, I am beginning to feel invincible.

When my writing gets shoved underground, it becomes a river of words, gaining momentum like a flood rushing towards a dam.

When it hits,

it’s going to hit hard.

Hopefully, I am going to break through.

If not, I will resume my usual (or unusual) occupation as resident (or dissident) philosopher.

The Fat PI, also known as Gregson, has been on hiatus, as of late. I put him on a beach with an umbrella drink and a beautiful woman in a tasteful one-piece.

Gregson wants to finish his memoirs, just how I want to finish my first attempt at the Great American Novel.

Recently, it has been suggested to me that I should be a professional, or a writer.

My response: “I’m going to be a professional writer.”

I said this to myself four hours later, but that’s what writers do.

They are seldom able to say words spontaneously.

Okay, now I’m rambling… so I need to sign off.

Intellectual Shaman—Out.