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                            A Dark and Crimson Alley


               A HA!! Here’s the bulletin we’ve been waiting for.

        On behalf of myself and the crew, may I say, “Oh Boy.”

       The annual Yuletide march macabre to Jan. 2 has kicked

        off, only now the atrocious music and belittling

        advertising start on Halloween, and those objects of

        heft which we all in some form must bear, become all

        the more weighty now due to the tenacious and shifting

        infection. Happy Holidays Y’all.

              The bulletin, yes, let’s return to the bulletin thing.

                      We have a new joint in the works:

                           “A Dark and Crimson Alley”

                I like this one a lot. It happens in NYC in the ’80s

          or ’90s. Very noir, very. Big time.

               To this affair we attach a new illuminator. He elects

           to be credited as Slicky and so Slicky it is. He is an

          intuitive craftsman, a good soul and his head fits in his

          hat. I think we’ll keep him.

                Please enjoy this story, our ’umble gift to You.

          You will find it in the Short Story drop down right

          above the hippo in a tootoo.

                 Don’t let the news or the holidaze crush You.

                                                        Be of good cheer

                                                           Take a nap

                                                          Go for a walk

                                                             Come sit awhile,



                                    Bulletin on the Conclusion of                          4/03/2021


               I might call this a bulletin to myself and, should resist that urge.

       With the posting of chapter #46, Ardensville is concluded or as we

       in the industry say, “The End”. Now should Howard Hawks or John

       Huston or Frankenheimer call, it might move to another or higher

       dimension. Or not.

             I'm grateful to those who helped and those who encouraged me.

       Especially am I grateful to the great Juan Fernandez, lay out and

      web master extraordinaire. Thank You for hangin'in there with Celia.

      I would also thank Robin Bass who endowed Ardensville a visual

      signature of distinction.

           Thank You(s) for hangin' in there with Celia. I hope we provided

      some amusement in the two years it took to roll the story out, one

      of those years having a substantial appetite for amusement. Aw hell,

      both of'em.

           Now as much as ever, your comment and criticism is invited and

      welcome. I promise, you will not be punished or persecuted for

      availing to us your thoughts. Thank You.

     “Next case”, as my Father would conclude. I was thinking, maybe,

      a longish comic poem about mono-agriculture. In this our Age of

      Anxiety we might all be elevated with the aroma from A Pot of Basil.

      When is a cautionary tale NOT part of a remedy.

                                                                                            Peace and Health

                                                                                            this our troubled




                                                                                                   Can Save



                                                          Spring                                                      03/13/21


               Well here's a bit of interesting news; an old buddy o' mine and I filed

    a patent for something we've been working on for a few months now. It's a

    little spray bottle thing (pocket size) that you would use when putting a new

    mask into circulation. You give it a little shpritz with our formula and instantly,

    before you ever put it on, your mask will smell like bad teeth, deep burp and

    disinfectant. Better living through chemistry. We think we've got a hit.

                To other matters, Spring is sprung. A bumper sticker for the ages.

     Crocuses leap from the Earth like they were snake bit. Soon behind them the

     gladiolas and yellow yellow daffodils. I just love them bulbs, don't you.

                 The conclusion of Ardensville is afoot. I once knew an attorney who

      moved from lucrative divorce law to less lucrative licensing. I was applying

     for a liquor license at  the time. She said the duration of most divorce cases

     was wearing her down terribly so she moved to an area of the law that

     provided closure. She expedited the acquisition of the license, we shook hands

     and I never saw her again. Ahhh, closure.

                Folksizhome will continue and Celia and Petra, Harold, Morrow,

     the Crew, Penny and Babby will ride into some sunset but as day follows

     night, so Winter gives way to Spring and here we are.

                 Let us all rise, face the Sun and breathe in deeply. That was one

      tough Winter. And heartfelt toasts to those now absent from our midst this

      otherwise glorious Spring. Primavera.


                                                                                    Just Knock

     How strange it has become and how strange it all is. But it seems to

      stop at – is.  Now, I have to go with the ritual deprivation angle here.

          Rituals are more than lighting candles (how archaic is that?) or feasts or

     murdering trees or trips to the dentist. They are shared common experiences

     which may provide social cohesion. To this effect, rituals can reinforce social

     distinctions or, they can overcome social distinctions creating homogeneity

     over larger aggregated populations.

          Rituals also provide for us, the anticipation of events, which we take

     for granted, that will occur. Anything taken for granted can become the

     dreaded false sense of security. In this universe at least, nothing has-is-will be


            I never cared for digital clocks. They suggest to me that Time just moves

      forward in a straight line through infinity. In an unorganic concept, this might

      be so but that is not my experience of it. Mine is a sense of circles.

      Sun up, Sun down. Moon up and then down. Start all over again.

            Circles. Everywhere. When time is reduced to a straight line, to me, it

       becomes as the unsettling void of distance at sea when land is beyond sight.

       When sailors of antiquity were troubled by the immeasurable distances of

       the oceans, what did they do? They consulted the circles. Circles do not lie.

       They do not conceal or guide us falsely.

            Now, many of us and in varying degrees, all of us, are out to sea without

        an astrolabe. Bereft our rituals, time takes on a distinct shapelessness.

        The future once so dependable, now lurks below the surface. At least on 

        shit creek you know what direction things go,  paddle or not.  

                                                                                         Spring is on Her way

                                                                                         Now there's a ritual

                                                                                         To count on,

                                                                                                 Bet the cave on.


                                                                                                           You bet      

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