Ecce homo: "that which does not kill me--"

Dear friends,

Greetings and salutations!

I am not (I will commence by astonishing) a sociable or gregarious man. I say little of what I live and would rather say less; half of it was dull enough the first time around, and the rest shivered like a lonely puppy in the cold mud. But I will shortly be stranded, still tremulous, in an island fiefdom of Canadiana surrounded by murky waters; and no light should pass from there, not even the most colourfully tortured metaphor, if we did not make special measures to keep it safe. Moreover it would be crass to neglect my friends so! (Family is always implicitly included in that word -- now explicitly.) Perhaps something interesting will happen on the way, too. So I tell myself and you my friends stories of what passes.

And I tell myself -- myself. I cannot tell if I am a taciturn man who wishes to be garrulous or the reverse. Perhaps I will find out.

I remain, even when out of sight, yours,

Balin "BKF" Fleming