To whom it may concern

In this world we live in, there are all people of all sorts, whether they are musicians or conformists, composers or the symphony, the rulers of this here earth or just the glue that holds the kings together, we're all somebody. And I'm a bit of an author.

I think despite my chronic not-posting on the blog, I'd like to take another break, except this one is being announced. I love posting on this blog, but who the hell is reading it? Is it that ridiculous to want to do something substantial and real? I'm an author, but, no offense to the blog, I've been toiling away performing a fool's errand. Nobody gives a fuck if I post, in fact, I doubt anyone will read this beyond a small circle of my friends who read the damn thing once a week or whenever I yell at them to read it.

For once in my life, I'd like to do something that might be known by people I've never met and enjoyed by people everywhere, and as of now, this blog isn't everywhere. But I might be able to write a novel that is. Maybe even a series of novels. Just because I haven't even finished writing one decent, readable book and screwed up every story I've ever written with a choppy storyline or a convoluted plot twist doesn't mean I have to fail again. Self-determination is not a malfunction. I will finish something. And you know what? It'll probably be pretty fucking awesome.

If the other authors on the blog choose to write, comment on their fucking posts. If you don't comment and give constructive criticism, there is no motivation to post, and the blog will go quiet again, believe it or not, authors just need one big fan to drive their work further, and although you may think that someone else will do it, this blog doesn't exactly have that many readers (five, and three of them are authors).

All due respect and wish me luck,

The Clown Prince of Crime,

Sonny Ebsary.

The River Wild

The mirror was broken in the name of vanity.
The seeker was a token from which to buy the insanity.
The lake calms, the river wild,
Something I watch every once, every while.

My heart was human, my head was moving,
But nothing seemed to beat.
I looked upon the river wild,
Which and where nothing fell to sleep.

The river captured and swallowed up,
The lake stood by and by still.
The river raged and rallied corrupt.
While the lake sent a smile and vibes of good will.

The lake has stooped and lost and compromised
And the river never hides its lying eyes.
The whole rivers and lakes and all of their waters,
Are sullied and polluted and I wonder why bother.

I wish I had hope in this great ocean o' blue,
But this young hopeful's hope is running out too.

All you as well have this problem and ask and take:
Why do we support this frivolous lake?

I'll say this once and I'll say this again,
An enemy is worse than a disappointing friend.