I’m sitting here working on what is to me a magic window on the world, such that I never imagined in my youth while learning to peck away on a typewriter, designed for me by Charles.
Next to me is the scrap built computer built for me by Craig, who, like Charles, just did this favor on a whim, according to a notion that I needed some help. I’m sure their reasons are related to our mutual experience as fighters who belong to the same network.
Just moments ago I went downstairs to find a large package and a small package. My roommate pointed these out and said, “The small one has the cash and the large one the drugs, right?”
I responded, “And you really believed I make a living writing about not getting mugged in Baltimore?”
Since Charles set up this website, which he paid for until it began paying for itself, and seems disinclined to take a penny of the proceeds, I have received over 100 books from readers as well as numerous donations.
Today, Ishmael, who has spent hundreds of dollars shipping research media to me since we decided to look into the Liver-Eater, sent me yet more rare and high quality books, and a check, for more money than I make in a week toiling over Mister John's frozen food and dairy cases.
Thank you, Ishmael.
Then I opened the smaller package, from Samuel Finlay, a young author who reads on the site, who signed my review copy of Breakfast with the Dirt Cult with the following blessing,
“To James,
“With deep respect. May Crom aid you in your journeys. (And if not, then to hell with him.)”
-Sam
Thanks, guys—this makes giving up wench-on-demand worthwhile. I’m still learning—from you four and the dozens of others that have greeted me through this curious window on the world—every week; learning more than all the mind-fuckers of my youth managed to prevent me from seeing with their soul-eating candy goggles for the mind’s eye.
I never thought, when reading histories and fantasies about men who lived in tribal settings according to an ethic of honor and reciprocity, that I would, when well past my prime, find myself in contact with so many men who represent the reemergence of such generous barbarity from the sloughing ruin of our masters’ bankrupt culture of civilized greed and spiritual descent.
I hope you each still have at least one memorable adventure in your future—and that you crush your enemy, see them driven before you, and hold their women—or a more palatable substitute—close.
I know, Charles, that this is a redundant ritual made obsolete by this ingenious self-dating virtual page, but indulge the old man's ancient rite, please...
-James LaFond, Monday, June 6, 2015
Thanks for this, James. We've not yet begun to fight.
I'm enjoying the book, Sam, reading it on my break at work. Your mechanics are excellent. I think it became unpalatable to any publishing house with a female editor as soon as you dropped the phrase Clit Lit right after using the term bitch!
I'm 40 pages in and am enjoying it too much to just knock it out in a couple hours.
Take care.
James, you are most welcome, a man of your refined tastes need a broad array of literature. You know of my addiction, it would be cheaper if I switched to alcohol. Sam if you read this I ordered your book, it gives me renewed hope in the youth that will soon replace my Ranger brother and my old worn out ass. Good luck with your writing. James I just started back on my 8 days of slave labor. I will find you Journals of a Trapper and Give your Heart to the Hawks, a week from tomorrow unless you have these books. your friend Ishmael.