To the reader

This story has been in my heart for the last ten years. It is etched from my soul- dribbled in words for the masses to share upon and reflect. in blind moments it is hard to find the right words- to express certain feelings. To show things as they have already been said- becomes so dull. In this realazation I attempt to break with the given molds. though it can be a bit trifiling- because there only so many ways to tell a story. it is going on 70 years since Henry(Miller) said the novel was dead. Though if true- I resign to resuuect the novel from the dirt out of my blood and soul. the novel can be an expressive way in this non-expressive  world. 1

    i am not the first at this attempt-and i will not be the last. right we are at a point where everyone can have the ability to put out thier own novel-in whatever form they feel. So it create an overwhelming sense of freedom- though it also dilutes the possibilty of expression itself. Though it would be grand if anyone would put out something. whether it was thier own book of philosophy-poems-stories. Everyone has a story to tell-and every vision is unique as a star and snowflake.  2

  The time of the angelic starrving artist has come to it's end. That rotting corpse is starring you in the face, asking you to release yourself- and just spill out your guts. This is the "Age of Exhaustion"! Let us exhaust all the possibilties- untill there seems nothing left...then other possbilties will open and transcendance can occur.3

   So I give out my stories, out of fallen ego, and a swelling pride. For anyone can take pen to paper-and create majic and wonder. As with philosophy anyone can quote some dead man and write down dead words and say it's philosophy. So read on...then write...exhaust..dare and dream.4