"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things..."

Today's title is obviously from "The Walrus and the Carpenter," which in turn is from Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll.

I don't really have anything specific I want to talk about today. However, I figured since I'm home from work, and everyone but the troll in my basement is gone for the day, I should take advantage of the opportunity to write on the computer, instead of on my phone as I usually do. I think this will only be the second post, maybe third, that wasn't written on my phone.

One thing I've been debating since I started this blog is whether or not to include some of my short stories on here. I really would like to, you know, actually have people read them, but unfortunately I think I'll have to hold off for now. Most of the audience reading this is coworkers. (As far as I know, anyway, since only two people have ever left comments. :( Sigh.) Most of my short stories are erotica. Not exactly a combo that works.Enough of you know enough about my perversions already without reading straight up porn. So no short stories, at least for now. I am trying to write some that aren't dirty, but to be perfectly honest, I am very good at writing that sort of story. I have some that are extremely naughty and graphic, and others that are quite tame, and many that fall somewhere in between. Maybe I'll just start a second blog strictly for the erotica. That could be fun.

I also toyed with putting some of my old poetry on here. I don't really write poetry anymore, though, and haven't since about 1997 or so. The bulk of what I wrote was around 1990-1994, and now that I've gone back and read some of it again... yeah... Really not good stuff. Even the one poem I had published in 1994 is just... it's so juvenile. I'll put it at the end of this post, just for shits and giggles, but it really isn't good, other than one phrase, which is my favorite part of any poem I ever wrote. I'll let you decide which part it is.

Other than that, I really don't know what direction this blog is going to take. I really don't want to continue the trend I've started of dark post followed by light post followed by dark post and so on. But I don't want it to be strictly one or the other, either. That would get boring for both you as a reader and me as a writer. I will try to make it a little more unbalanced, though. My goal right now is to go two to three positive posts between darker posts. Will I succeed? Who knows. But it's a starting point.

My biggest question to you, dear reader, is this: What do you want to read? I really would like your feedback. In all honesty I don't want this blog to be completely one-sided. I really like when people give me ideas of what to write about for the simple fact that right now there are about 3 dozen ideas for posts spinning through my head, so if someone mentions something to pluck one of them from the whirlwind, that's what I'll write about. It's what happened on the last post, for instance, regarding regrets. And as much as I was beating myself up in that post it was actually one of the more fun ones I've written, simply because it just flowed right out and didn't struggle at all.

So, yeah... Just spew forth ideas and I'll snag something out of my thinker. I really do want to make this a more enjoyable experience for you as a reader.

Well I am going to wrap this up. The troll has come forth from her lair. Before I go, though, as promised, the poem I had published. Here's a little back story, first.

I wrote this poem in 10th grade (1990) about a girl in math class. She was a freshman who sat about halfway across the room, and I had a massive crush on her. However, back then I would never let her know that, because I was insanely shy and would shake really bad if I even thought about speaking to a girl I liked. So instead, I wrote this poem. And never gave it to her. I never even spoke to her, actually. A few years later when I was living with Jennifer, I saw an ad in the newspaper for a poetry contest, and on a whim entered this poem. It ended up being accepted for publication, but was not one of the top twenty or whatever that won prizes. I didn't care, though. Just being able to say, for the rest of my life, that I am a published poet was definitely prize enough for me. Before you judge just remember I was a 15 year old virgin at the time. Ha.

Oh, and vampires weren't the cultural phenomenon they would become yet, either.

"Amy"

A golden-brown haired figure sitting,
Her lips as red as pouring blood.
Her skin gets paler while I'm sipping,
And withers, dead, like a black rose bud.

Her blood was warm and much enjoyed.
The taste of her dead lips was sweet.
Her endless blue eyes revealed a void
Imagination could not defeat.

Her silk-smooth breast, warm inside my mouth,
Was blissfully enchanting - no doubt.
And then I bit, and the blood pumped out.
Her voice of angels would not shout.

Instead her penetrating blue eyes
Looked down at teeth sunk deep in her breast.
She did not even try to ask why,
She only wanted to get her rest.