When I am dead, I hope it may be said: ''His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.'' Hilaire Belloc
it is about time i transcribed my prosey thoughts and jumbly yearnings into writing. perhaps, one day (which i hope for the most) they will be bound between two iron covers, stamped upon reams of delectable paper, ready to be consumed by dreamers as bookish and restless as i.
until then, i am little more than waxing lyrical. i need some common sense and a bit of wry wit, so help me god.