One of the things that I enjoy the most about writing here is that I’ve got a record that I can be held to. It’s really easy to log on to the internet and start dropping bombs on players. What’s difficult is establishing a conclusion and staying consistent with it. Keeping that in mind, I searched the archives to come up with my notes on one Jason Motte.
The conversion began in 2006 but Motte burst onto the scene in 2007 in Springfield. I made a point of watching an excessive amount of video on Motte. Read the rest of this entry »
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So, floating on the margin of the ensuing scene, and in full sight of it, when the half-spent suction of the sunk ship reached me, I was then, but slowly, drawn towards the closing vortex. When I reached it, it had subsided to a creamy pool. Round and round, then, and ever contracting towards the button-like black bubble at the axis of that slowly wheeling circle, like another ixion I did revolve. till gaining that vital centre, the black bubble upward burst; and now, liberated by reason of its cunning spring, and owing to its great buoyancy, rising with great force, the coffin like-buoy shot lengthwise from the sea, fell over, and floated by my side. Buoyed up by that coffin, for almost one whole day and night, I floated on a soft and dirge-like main. The unharming sharks, they glided by as if with padlocks on their mouths; the savage sea-hawks sailed with sheathed beaks. On the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.
The interminable spring seems to have drained the life out of the farm system, their spirit and skill zapped by the Floridian sun. But don’t take my word for it…
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