The put-down boys are out in force today. Venting their meanness by calling others mean. I'm one of the targets, maybe the main one in this round. Be happy, fellas. Find a spleen extractor, or something.

I learned in school that some people will take a disliking to you, they will bad-mouth. It just happens. I'm not going to defend myself today. Too happy writing again, after a long drought.

My machine at home is on the blink, & I am busy at work, which is why HG Poetics has wagged sommat desultory lately. Besides which the new role as political idiot has added yet another layer of plastique to my status as Hon. Official Elite Bad-Wind Outsider Runt of the Blue Regions of Poesy.

What am I doing here? Making myself pariah, as usual. Among the professional marginalites & criticriticritical oppositionalists. Why? Thankless task. Lowest of the gutterdrones.

My adopted state has a history of pariahdom. RI was always Rogue's Island to puritanical Massachusetts, prim Connecticut. Why am I doing this? Maso-exhibitionism? "Here, have some of my sin." Stubborn Grew is about that - becoming leper in pariah state.

Deeper motives. Who is "J", really?? Or M? Or W? Collecting memories. Joseph Cornell.

What a dreary week, mostly, among my fellow bloggists. But I will hold my tongue - they flee from mee anyhowe.