Salt, Pepper,

I offer the most retreating words for my extended virtual absence, but since rioting has been reported as close as the courtyard at the base of the steps leading up the incline to the far gate of the outer city wall, I will throw you a brothy bone.

I’ve been holed up here in the keep isolating the philosopher’s stone. A strange apparition of the future materialized itself with heavy footsteps on my brain. It said, “Make something of yourself!” And I was amazed. And it said, “Only answer these questions – Who are you? What have you done and what will you do and why?” And there was only a little space. And when I had thought and thought it showed me a tiny square, and I had to fit my answer in that square by pushing it in with an electronic hockey hammer. And then it showed me a new square, even smaller, to be filled in with the same answers and then another and another, smaller and smaller. When I was done there were browning peels everywhere, all the boxes were stuffed and, exhausted, I had a freebased answer so addictive that I had to comb all the flesh and gristle from my bones to keep it from leaping naked and dancing into the spotlit air. Now I’m so hard and unassailable that no electric or animal element can dare to tackle me down. Fie! Fie! Fie! Loathsome quandaries!

My normal mode of communication will continue after I determine which is head and which is foot. Suggestions will be sulked over respectfully.

Stonily,

-f